It's Not Like Christmas
It's not like Christmas I knew years ago
The Irish Christmas that I used to know
When Caherbarnagh peaks are capped with snow
And cold winds from the mountains inland blow.
To Kallista they drive from miles away
To celebrate a forest Christmas Day
The sun glow in a canopy of blue
And steaks are sizzling on the barbecue.
So many people at Grant's Picnic Ground
On Christmas Day they come from miles around
At forest park the kin and families meet
To drink their beer and eat and eat and eat.
At Kallista on Christmas Day all breeds of man
From Italy and Greece and Pakistan
The Germans and the Dutch and Japanese
And the Cypriots and the Turks amongst all these.
And white skinned Aussie there to celebrate
His esky full of beer meat on his plate
He open his esky pass around the beer
A happy Christmas mate and lots of cheer.
And I think of windswept Country miles away
Where sun doesn't ever shine on Christmas Day
Where in houses by the bogs near Clara hill
In heated rooms they drink and eat their fill.
Comments about this poem (It's Not Like Christmas by Francis Duggan )
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