Looking through rose tinted
Beneath Dublin city’s chimney stacks
Lie cobblestones and old tram tracks
The rag and bone man calling out
Children playing, scream and shout.
The milkman on his daily rounds
Tinkling glass the bottle’s sound
Robin with his beak did press
On silver cap the cream to get.
At Christmas we’d gather there
Under the tree the presents share
Parcels wrapped for everyone
Forget your troubles have some fun.
In those days a little mattered
Dolly prams, fire engines scattered
Christmas Day a real occasion
Before the technical invasion.
Off to mass, brand new clothes
Woolly socks no naked toes
All wrapped up against the cold
Snowball fighting, young and old.
How innocent were we back then
No gadgets to confuse our brain
No insolence or talking back
A wooden spoon with you would smack.
Things are all different now
Children’s lives have changed somehow
No interest in the wind up toy
Lost I think that simple joy.