Oh for a brand new dolly

with eyes that readily close,

and the box of bright lead soldiers

that my little brother chose.

But if we voiced these wishes

As December nights drew in

Father's reply was, as always,

'Yes, when my ship comes in.'

As we both grew older and wiser

our hopes ranged far and wide.

The hints and clues we gave him

would help him, we thought, decide.

But hints, whether blatant or devious

made no sort of difference to him.

The answer came back as always

'Yes, when my ship comes in.'

Yet now, even older and wiser

as dreams filter into my mind

more exotic, they seem no nearer,

Utopia even harder to find.

That new carpet I'd like is expensive;

that dress which would make me feel slim;

I look at my last bank statement.

'Oh well! When my ship comes in!'