Poem for the Day 
Today would have been my grandmother's birthday.  Born in the reign of Queen Victoria, she was a lady of great faith, gracious and kind and who always seemed to know just when to give me a sweet but who would never give me two!  Her philosophy was quite simple; you are better than no-one, and no-one is better than you.  This is a poem I heard her recite many times and, this morning, from somewhere far away, I can see us both, sitting at her fireside, and beside me is a plate of her 'just-made-and-still-warm' girdle scones, oozing with butter and tasting of home.

Ca canny through this weary world
And pick your steps wi care,
And never dae your neebour wrang,
But aye dae what is fair.
Men fa and never rise again
Wha never fell afore,
There's aye a wee bit slippy stane
At ilka body's door.

An' gin your neebour chance to fa
Ye maunna let him lie,
But gie a haun to help him up
As ye are passin by.
Your neebour's case may be your ain,
Though ye hae wealth in store,
There's aye a wee bit slippy stane
At ilka body's door.

There's slippy stanes where'er ye gang
By cottage, hut, or hall.
An ye maun pick your steps wi care
Lest ower them ye may fall.
For emperors and kings hae faen,
Forby there's many a score,
There's aye a wee bit slippy stane
At ilka body's door.

The Slippy Stane
H. Nimmo