The Mahogany Tree

Christmas is here, winds whistle shrill, icy and chill, little care we. Little we fear weather without, sheltered about the mahogany tree. Once on the boughs, birds of rare plume sang in its bloom. Night birds are we.

Here we corouse, singing like them, perched around the stem of the jolly old tree. Here, let us sport, boys, as we sit, laughter and wit, flashing so free. Life is but short. When we are gone, let them sing on round the old tree.

Evenings we knew. Happy is this. Faces we miss. Pleasant to see. hearts and true, gentle and just, peace to your dust. We sing round the tree. Care like a dun lurks at the gate. Let the dog wait. Happy will be. Drink, everyone.

Pile up the coals. Fill the red bowls round the old tree. Drain we the cup. Friend, are to frayed. Spirits are laid in the Red Sea. Mantlet up empty yet yet. Let us forget round the old tree.

Sorrows, be gone. Life and its ills, dungs and their bills bid we to flee. Come with the dawn, blue devil spright. Leave us tonight. around the old tree.