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!'
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