Rugby roots, metal studded boots

I remember my first pair of metal studded boots.
How they played the Pied Pipers most mesmeric of flutes;
That magic, and memories the sound stirs around,
Footsteps on tarmac on my old school playground.
A magnificent feeling, with joy I abound:
Matched mud on my knee caps with a resonating sound!

Was I watched at all by a Twickenham crowd?
Each metallic step would they cheer out loud?
Alas, not for me, it's my imagination that matters;
Each step was a symbol a symphonic clatter;
Accompanied of course by some small school boy chatter!

Transforming those small steps, now each mighty stride,
Oh first rugby boots, how they'd be my guide.
From moulded boot boy, to the moulding of men,
To shape, me to guide me, oh yes and then,
It gave me the hope of playing  U10!

Those metal studs, bolt-like, seeming so small,
But screwed in my boots, made me ten feet tall.
There were six metal studs screwed into each boot;
Dreaming, that magic, make me fleet of foot,
Giving me confidence, I started to strut.

Like iron hammer stud, striking church bell,
With the sound of each footstep, my chest it did swell.
Protecting, cajoling, symphonic brotherhood.
This choral caste, that made each step good,
Ensured I blossomed, from this yearling bud!

The peeling of each ringing star studded stride,
Each concrete footstep, it filled me with pride.
Something immense, I now do belong,
Collective protection in this happy throng
The church bell rang loudly, I joined in its song.

That simple sound of metal studded boots,
The echoes from corridors, like fine armoured suits.
The moulding of me from forbidden fruit,
Team bonding together they showed me the route.
The thoughts that it triggers of my playing days,
We should all have played rugby, is the sound that it says!