I Am Not Old, But My Young

And Numerous Indeed Are The Hearts To Which Christmas Brings A Brief Season Of Happiness And Enjoyment.

It Was One Of Those Hot, Silent Nights, When People Sit At Windows Listening For The Thunder Which They Know Will Shortly Break; When They Recall Dismal Tales Of Hurricanes And Earthquakes; And Of Lonely Travellers On Open Plains, And Lonely Ships At Sea, Struck By Lightning.

There Was Not One Straight Floor From The Foundation To The Roof; The Ceilings Were So Fantastically Clouded By Smoke And Dust, That Old Women Might Have Told Fortunes In Them Better Than In Grouts Of Tea.

Time And Tide Will Wait For No Man, Saith The Adage. But All Men Have To Wait For Time And Tide.

One Should Never Be Ashamed To Cry. Tears Are Rain On The Dust Of Earth.