An Idea
Books o' scraps are a' the rage,
the bairnies slip them 'tween each page;
There's angels, cherubs, Santas tae,
an' sets o' fairy folk at play.
A' ower the hoose are scraps galore,
they almost meet me at the door.
The war cry is: “I'll change ye that”
Or “ Gies yer princess wi' the hat.”
The thing that aye amuses me
is, efter a' this changin' spree;
what matter if some angel's torn,
they'll start a' ower again the morn.
Maybe, I thocht, if nations a'
in peace forgathered, big an' sma'.
And then, instead o' alterin' maps,
They'd happier be wi' changin' scraps!
