Most of us were sweet sixteen
Some fifty years ago.
All starry eyed and dreaming dreams
And hearts with fire aglow.
We’d seek our fame and fortune too
The world would be our oyster
But one or two had different dreams
And opted for the cloister.
A few short years went speeding by
And some of us chose marriage.
It’s sleep, not dreams, the woman needs
Who wheels a baby carriage.
But now we’ve come to celebrate
And share our wisdom’s pearls.
We’ve found the thread that binds our fate
We were St Rita’s girls.