Kilbirnie
O the years upon the bing, with cousin Margaret children played, Climbing up with all our power by Newhouse drive where people stayed, Amid the thorns and grey cement there seemed a moment, time well spent, And sliding down the gravel slope, I skinned my knees without a hope, My grannie waiting at the door, with borax, plasters by the score. O the hills we thought were steep, when now an older life we keep,Mountains, slopes upon our minds, perhaps a bing of different kind, Climbing o’er our darker thoughts, just like the thistles we did trod ,Lessons from the bing well learnt, of my granny’s soothing balm O how that Love returns to me, a nd brings with it a sense of calm, And behind the trees sat Warrior’s bing, perhaps a sign of future years,With bigger slopes and hills to climb amid the darker fading years.