Pitching Pennies Or Kaste På Stikka. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

Spring sun, time for play,
Little hands reach for the fray.
Coins, or caps, a simple prize,
Underneath bright, hopeful skies.

A stick stands tall, a line so neat,
Or a circle drawn, a hopeful feat.
Throw your treasure, far and true,
See who wins, me or you.

For the poor, a bottle top,
Filled with earth, to make it stop.
Or flattened flat on iron track,
A heavier coin, no turning back.

Hard ground, the best place to be,
Fair for all, for you and me.
Winner takes all, a happy shout,
Or share the spoils, round about.

A game of chance, a simple art,
Kaste på stikka, in every heart.
Childhood fun, a memory bright,
Shining in the fading light.