RIPPLING RHYMES.

Hawke's Bay Tribune, Volume XIII, Issue 256, 13 October 1923, Page 13

RIPPLING RHYMES.

SANTA’S BELLS.

The children hear the ringing of Santa’s string of bells as he comes blithely swinging across the moors and fells. They hear his reindeer loping beneath the wintry sky. they listen and they’re hoping he will not pass them by. I listen, too, but only discordant things I hear; the night is dark and lonely, the wind is bleak and drear. The snow is on the gables, the wind beats at the door, and I am old and fables appeal to me no more. I have a golden chalice, a diamondstudded fan; I’m living in a palace, I have a rich sedan; I’m decked in purple raiment, I have a costly lyre. I’m fixed to make the payment for all T may desire; my aunts, in priceless sables, go sloshing through the mart, but snow is on the gables and snow is on my heart. I listen for the singing of Santa to his doer. And I would give my plunder, my lyre and dachshund, too, if I could hoar and wonder as little children do. There are no elves or witches or fairies by the streams; but all an old man’s riches aren’t worth n bairnie’s dreams. WALT MASON.