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Christmas Memories – Tom Ryan, Thurles, Co Tipperary.

Christmas Memories.

Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©

I guess it’s a time to remember
When the snow falls to the earth
Over this great world in December,
With its sadness and its mirth.
The holly branch of memory
Adorns another time.
The toasts of happy yester-years
Now make my life sublime.


The flames from a turf fire burning
Above an open hearth,
The old songs give me yearning
For a younger time on earth.
The father went down to the corner
Which had a corner-store,
With toys and cakes and everything,
Aye and something strong for sure.


For lord ‘twas only the divil
And we all waiting there
For him to be home for the supper,
Out of the cold and frosty air.
My letter to Santa was written.
I asked for tracks and train
And hoped I’d not be forgotten
When Rudolf and Santy came.


And after an early supper
‘Twas off to bed in glee.
There’d be no sleep on Christmas Eve
Till Santa Clause I’d see.
But somehow, something peculiar,
For many a year and oft ,
I always went to slumber
And sight of the man I lost.


My sock was on a bed railing
Waiting for the dawn,
I awoke to the crackle of bacon
And church bells praised the morn.
And how I tore at that stocking
That was stitched up bewilderingly
And I got a kick and a shock
When Santa answered my plea.


How happy was everyone then,
A lifetime from today,
But in perfect harmony
Are the joys of that morn and today.
We are in a way our memories
They’re the greatest gift of all.
As the fire burns bright in the hearth
And the snowflakes softly fall.


And as I gaze at the children
Assembled in awe by the fire,
I’m as young as ever then
Though given a bit to tire.
For Christmas has never been old,
No matter what the year,
So, a toast in good warm whiskey,
With a laugh and a little tear.


Toast those before and are with us
And those to come and all
And the joy of a child at Christmas
Be with you one and all.
As the yuletide logs are burning,
And the snowflakes gently fall,
The world is a quare ould place
But don’t we love it all.

END

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

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