(With apologies to Wm. Cowper)
Oh that my lips had language! Life has passed
With me from down town to up town at last.
Those trips of mine – my own wireless I took,
Likewise a parcel of treasured book;
Voice only fails me when I seek to say
My feelings as we tore ourselves away
From what had been our dwelling in the street
Near to the quay, to live with the elite.
Where once we dwelt our name above the door
Still lets the passer-by know it’s our store;
And where the Herald Office day by day
Chanted within our ears its puffing lay
We shall no longer lie into the night
And count the beams of Douglas’ roving light.
Could Time, his flight revers’d, restore the hours,
When we would play in attics, sending showers
Of dust into the realms below, I would
Not change that for this neighbourhood,
Where gardens flank the road and roses bloom,
And all is light where once there was but gloom:
Time has succeeded, and the house, bereft
Sinks to a warehouse with no honour left.