Popular Poems Kids Will Enjoy
Poet: Eugene Field
Little Bo-peep awoke from her sleep,
Her eyes opened wide and wider,
For she found herself seated on the grass
With an old sheep standing beside her.
"Little Bo-peep," said the good old sheep,
"How glad I am we've found you!
Here we are - rams and sheep and Iambs -
All flocking up around you."
"You blessed sheep," said little Bo-peep,
"I've been worried to death about you."
"We've been searching for you," said the good old sheep,
"We wouldn't go home without you."
Poet: R. H. Genville
I have so many friends I can't
Begin to count them all.
There's Sue and Lucy, Bob and Jim,
And Abigail and Paul,
And all the children in my class
With whom I work and play,
Besides the neighbors on our street
Who smile and say good day!
The smiling sun's a friend of mine,
And all the things that grow;
And all the creatures of the wood,
And wind, and rain, and snow.
My heart's as full of happiness
As any flower unfurled;
Brimful of joy to be alive
In such a friendly world!
Poet: Sudie Stuart Hager
Puddles can be muddy places
That people walking shun;
Or they can be silver mirrors
Shining in the sun,
And glittering jewel trays at night
That make walking fun!
I'd try to be the loveliest puddle
If I were one.
Poet: Charles A. Grupp
Three little kittens decided one day
That they should eat as well as play
They had a thirst for milk, these three,
And each one knew where milk would be
"We'll have to milk the cow," they said,
And scampered down into the shed.
The cow was there, asleep and snoring.
"You milk her " said one; "I find it boring!"
"Oh, no, not I!" cried number two,
"It looks too awfully hard to do!"
"Well, let's move on," said number three,
"She may be milked, but not by me!"
"There's nice cool water in the well!"
And to the well they ran pell-mell.
They found a pail and a rope,
But suddenly they gave up hope.
All three miaowed, " 'Twould be a strain.
We're very apt to get a pain!"
They wandered down beside a stream
And spied a fish, deep in a dream.
"Aha!" they cried, "at last we'll eat!"
"You catch him," said one; "I hate wet feet
This gave the other kittens pause;
They hated water on their claws.
"Oh, well," they sighed, "we'll simply wait
Till Mistress feeds us at the gate."
The fish, awakened by their talk,
Scrambled up a cattail stalk
And, looking straight into their eyes,
Began to talk, to their surprise.
"You foolish kittens," he intoned,
"Your actions cannot be condoned.
This lesson you will have to learn,
That all you get is what you earn,
And though your tasks may be unpleasant,
The key to the future is in the present!"
So saying he released his hold,
And back into the brook he rolled.
Poet: John Franklin Bair
The wind can roar and he can whistle,
Can bend the tree and shake the thistle.
Can toss the waves and wreck the vessel,
Can break the limbs where sweet birds nestle,
Can slam the door, and windows rattle,
Can chill the pigs, the sheep and cattle,
Benumb the boy who outdoors lingers,
Can nip the nose and bite the fingers;
We sometimes wish that we could rout him,
But still we cannot do without him.
Poet: John Franklin Bair
Dear little children, never think
That you, because you're small,
Have no important place to fill,
There's work for one and all.
A little star, up in the sky,
Alone makes little light,
But millions of such little stars
Can make the whole world bright.
So too, you little children can,
If each will do his part,
Shed light around the world and bring
Joy to the broken heart.
Then let your little lights e'er shine,
Strive some kind act to do
Each day, and Jesus Christ will send
His blessing down to you.
Poet: Unknown
One day the letters went to school.
And tried to teach each other.
They got so mixed, 'twas really hard
To pick one from the other.
A went in first, and Z went last;
The rest were all between them —
K, H, and M, and N, O, P,—
I wish you could have seen them.
B, C, D, E, and J, K, H,
Soon jostled well their betters;
Q, R, S, T— I grieve to say-
Were very naughty letters.
Of course, ere long they came to words —
What else could be expected!
Till E made D, J, C, and T,
Decidedly dejected.
Now through it all the consonants
Were rudest and uncouthest,
While all the pretty vowel girls
Were certainly the smoothest.
The nimble U kept far from Q,
With face demure and moral,
Because, she said, " we are, we two.
So apt to start a quarrel!"
But spiteful P said, "Pooh for U"
(Which made her feel quite bitter).
And, calling O, L, E, to help,
He really tried to hit her.
Cried A, "Now, E and C come here!
If both will aid a minute,
Good P will join in making peace!
Or else the mischiefs in it.'"
And smiling E, the ready sprite,
Said, "Yes, and count me double."
This done, sweet peace shone o'er the scene.
And gone was all the trouble!
Meanwhile, while U and P made up.
The cos'nants looked about them,
And kissed the vowels, for, you see.
They couldn't do without them.
Poet: Catherine Pulsifer
A good day we wish for you
I am a little bit late that's true
But I would never forget you
So this poem is written just for you
We love you more and more that is true.
We hope this day is full of fun
We hope that you see the sun
We hope you are happy too
We love you more our little boo-boo
I write these poems just to say
I love you more and more each day
I love you more in every way
That's the end of the poems for the day
Poet: Edgar A. Guest
Up to the ceiling
And down to the floor,
Hear him now squealing
And calling for more.
Laughing and shouting,
"Away up!" he cries.
Who could be doubting
The love in his eyes.
Heigho! my baby!
And heigho! my son!
Up to the ceiling
Is wonderful fun.
Bigger than daddy
And bigger than mother;
Only a laddie,
But bigger than brother.
Laughing and crowing
And squirming and wriggling,
Cheeks fairly glowing,
Now cooing and giggling!
Down to the cellar,
Then quick as a dart
Up to the ceiling
Brings joy to the heart.
Poet: Christina Georgina Rossetti
How many seconds in a minute?
Sixty, and no more in it.
How many minutes in an hour?
Sixty for sun and shower.
How many hours in a day?
Twenty-four for work and play.
How many days in a week?
Seven both to hear and speak.
How many weeks in a month?
Four, as the swift moon runn'th.
How many months in a year?
Twelve the almanac makes clear.
How many years in an age?
One hundred says the sage.
How many ages in time?
No one knows the rhyme.
Poet: Althea Randolph
Two little eyes so sleepy.
Two little eyes of blue;
Two little eyes so busy.
Working the whole day through!
Two little eyes so merry.
Two little eyes so bright;
Two little eyes go bye-bye,
Shut up your eye-lids tight!
Two little eyes rest sweetly.
Two little eyes dream dreams;
Two little eyes pop open.
Soon as the day-break gleams!
Poet: Eleanor Farjeon
Five minutes, five minutes more please!
Let me stay five minutes more!
Can't I just finish the castle
I m building here on the floor?
Can't I just finish the story
I m reading here in my book?
Can't I just finish this bead-chain
It almost is finished, look!
Can't I just finish this game, please!
When a game's once begun
It s a pity never to find out
Whether you've lost or won.
Can't I just stay five minutes?
Well, can't I just stay four?
Three minutes then? two minutes?
Can't I stay one minute more?
Poet: John Franklin Bair
Pretty lilies in the pond,
How you smile on me;
Though my reach you're far beyond,
Yet I joy to see
Your bright faces smiling sweet,
Bringing such good cheer
To your many friends you greet,
Who come strolling here.
In the morning you appear
Very wide awake,
But when ev'ning's shades draw near,
You prepare to take
Your night's rest, and gently fold
Your bright petals tight,
Shelt'ring you from damp and cold
Through the livelong night.
Poet: George MacDonald
What would you see, if I took you up
My little aerie-stair?
You would see the sky like a clear blue cup
Turned upside down in the air.
What would you do, up my aerie-stair,
In my little nest on the tree?
My child with cries would trouble the air,
To get what she could but see.
What would you get in the top of the tree,
For all your crying and grief?
Not a star would you clutch of all you see
You could only gather a leaf.
But when you had lost your greedy grief,
Content to see from afar,
You would find in your hand a withering leaf,
In your heart a shining star.
Poet: Alden Arthur Knipe
There's a time to run and a time to walk;
There's a time for silence, a time for talk;
There's a time for work and a time for play;
There's a time for sleep at the close of day.
There's a time for everything you do,
For children and for grown-ups, too.
A time to stand up and a time to sit, —
But see that the time and actions fit.
Poet: Oliver Herford
Under a toadstool
Crept a wee Elf,
Out of the rain,
To shelter himself.
Under the toadstool,
Sound asleep,
Sat a big Dormouse
All in a heap.
Trembled the wee Elf,
Frightened, and vet
Fearing to fly away
Lest he get wet.
To the next shelter
Maybe a mile!
Sudden the wee Elf
Smiled a wee smile,
Tugged till the toadstool
Toppled in two.
Holding it over him,
Gayly he flew.
Soon he was safe home,
Dry as could be.
Soon woke the Dormouse
"Good gracious me!"
"Where is my toadstool?"
Loud he lamented.
And that 's how umbrellas
First were invented.
Poet: John Imrie
I love to hear the school-bell ring,
I love to hear the children sing;
I love to see the house of pray'r,
I love to know that God is there.
I love to see my teacher's face,
All beaming with a heavenly grace;
I love to make my teacher glad,
When naughty children make her sad.
I love to read my Bible true,
I love my Father's will to do;
I love to feel my sins forgiv'n,
I love to think of God and Heav'n.
I love to learn the heavenly way.
In Sabbath-school - on Sabbath day;
I love to bring my playmates there,
I love my lessons to prepare.
I love my mother - oh, so dear!
I love my father's heart to cheer;
I love my brothers, kind and true,
I love my own dear sisters too.
I love to think of Jesus mild,
And bow He loves a little child;
I love to know that "God is Love,"
And smiles on me from Heav'n above.
I love to think that when I die
God waits for me beyond the sky;
And when I reach that "happy land,"
I'll walk with Jesus hand-in-hand!
Poet: Eugene Field
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise! "
So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue —
Oh I the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
Poet: Eugene Field
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe, —
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
Said Wynken Blynken, And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea."
Now cast your nets wherever you wish, —
Never afeard are we! "
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam, —
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home:
'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed
As if it could not be;
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea;
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed;
So shut your eyes while Mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, —
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod
Poet: Mrs. Goodwin
There is a child, - a boy or girl,-
I'm sorry it is true, -
Who doesn't mind when spoken to:
Is it? - it isn't you!
O no, it can't be you!
I know a child, - a boy or girl, -
I'm loth to say I do, -
Who struck a little playmate child:
Was it? - it wasn't you!
I hope that wasn't you!
I know a child, - a boy or girl, -
I hope that such are few, -
Who told a lie; yes, told a lie!
Was it? - it wasn't you!
It cannot be 'twas you !
There is a boy - I know a boy, -
I cannot love him though, -
Who robs the little birdies' nests;
Is it? it can't be you!
That bad boy can't be you!
A girl there is, - a girl I know, -
And I could love her too.
But that she is so proud and vain;
Is it? it can't be you!
That surely isn't you!
