Sitting around the chimney,
peat burning on the fire.
Friends and others swapping tales,
while supping Bushmills best.
Memories keep flooding forth,
some happy, some not so,
but whiskey, warmth and bonhomie
soon frees the tongues to go.
Thoughts of those already gone,
with all their faults and follies.
The conversation changes tone
and soon there's melancholy
The evening ends, it's time to go,
the final toast is cried.
It wishes those whose time has come
the best of luck, the other side.
Copyright Jacqueline Hastings 2010