Champy stane
A thing ye seldom ever find
Is bit o’ champin’ stane, d’ye mind?
Ye hammered it wi’ might and’ main,
Then made a heap o’… champy stane.
When we were wee; jist toddlin’ boys,
Along wi’ laughin, simple ploys
We’d sit content’ a’ on oor lane,
An’ belt away at champy stane.
As time went on we’d kites and bools,
An’ pocket knives an‘ bankie stools.
But this, ye see, wis aye my aim:
A’d still look roond fer champy stane.
It ranked wi’ peeries, chalkin’ wa’s,
Or “Tig” or Scotch an’ Irish ba’s.
(On looking back, the rest were tame
Compared wi’ glorious champy stane).
There’s folks I ken, think gimmicks great,
While ithers set their store on fate -
Or chase elusive, fleetin’ fame,
Masel’? A’d plump fer champy stane.
If ever, in a time tae be,
Some pastime rare enamours me,
It shairly will hae proved it’s claim
Tae rival good auld champy stane.
