Child poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best child poems ever written. Read all poems about child.
Brown and agile child, the sun which forms the fruit
And ripens the grain and twists the seaweed
Has made your happy body and your luminous eyes
And given your mouth the smile of water.
Nought loves another as itself,
Nor venerates another so,
Nor is it possible to thought
A greater than itself to know.
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
When I bring to you colored toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water,
and why flowers are painted in tints
- -when I give colored toys to you, my child.
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die.’
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Whey are those tears in your eyes, my child?
How horrid of them to be always scolding you for nothing!
You have stained your fingers and face with ink while writing-
is that why they call you dirty?
Neither clown nor child nor black
nor white but verticle
and a questioning innocence
dressed in night and snow:
Be it a girl, or one of the boys,
It is scarlet all over its avoirdupois,
People live forever in Jacksonville and St. Petersburg and Tampa,
But you don't have to live forever to become a grampa.
The entrance requirements for grampahood are comparatively mild,
You only have to live until your child has a child.
Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man,
Never fear though it break your heart -
Out of the wound new joy will start;
WHO rides there so late through the night dark and drear?
The father it is, with his infant so dear;
He holdeth the boy tightly clasp'd in his arm,
Of the dark past
A child is born;
With joy and grief
My heart is torn.
A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital
'Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it.
Mother - The divine Mother,
On the road to save Her Child,
Inscribed to a Dear Child:
In Memory of Golden Summer Hours
And Whispers of a Summer Sea
God, tell me, who am I
Am I your passionate child
or someone who is wicked and wild.
Am I the one with aim and mission
The world is wide with wonder
For everything is new
A child’s mind is like a sponge
Or like a flower sipping morning dew
From the day a child is born The child's fate is decided by the Mother. She spends day and night Taking care of her child. Having a lot of thought For the future of the child, She works so hard to earn a penny. Her child's world has a bright future. She loves and cares for her child So much that nothing could compare.
She has a lot of wishes Not even the precious gem could replace. But a doubt always remains Whether her child would grow up To fulfill her WISHES and EXPECTATIONS
O' Lady Of Impartiality in blindfold,
is this what justice visualizes and predicts
that a helpless little child can be adopted
by two persons of the same gender
The child was read the second amendment
With happiness and pride and contentment
How it's all Americans rights to bare arms
Then the child felt the sadness and the alarms.
I love knowing no matter how old I grow…no matter how many days I rise…there is still a child inside me…a child who never dies.
A child I feel blessed never to be without…and some mornings on my walk…I like to let that child out.
'The Children of Gaza' Lyrics
(lyrics written by Michael R. Burch and adapted in places to the music by Michael R. Burch and composer Eduard de Boer)
Epigraph for a Child of the Holocaust
by Michael R. Burch
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
The man is in the child;
The child is in the man.
The child becomes the man;
The infant turns into the adult,
(with apology to Ingrid Jonker.After Bernard Odendaal)
Truly the child is not dead,
Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm
Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm
Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm,
You may say there is no such thing called "all cure" or "panacea". But I would say- yes, there is one. And that is "LOVE".
I would explain this while I discuss the issue of stress and child development. I am sure- in the end, you will be convinced with my claim.
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