Childhood poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best childhood poems ever written. Read all poems about childhood.
Childhood, sweet and sunny childhood,
With its careless, thoughtless air,
Like the verdant, tangled wildwood,
Wants the training hand of care.
It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,
for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?
How advanced they are, these children of the future,
Like small adults, within their tiny frames,
They grow up in a fast 'speed driven' culture,
Where 'learning pressures' change their kind of games,
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
My childhood's home I see again,
And sadden with the view;
Downward through the evening twilight,
In the days that are forgotten,
In the unremembered ages,
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I can't remember,
my childhood was the time when i was innocent
when the world seemed to be fair
when my universe was around my toys
I cannot reach it; and my striving eye
Dazzles at it, as at eternity.
Were now that chronicle alive,
Those white designs which children drive,
I wake and pull the curtains to see winter's snow has fallen. Church bells ring, children laugh walking with sledges to the big hill with each step expectation of joys of childhood fun.As I stoke the fire and think of snowball fights, and snowmen, my lost childhood now in the distant past.
Headline and tabloids full of nonsense she gets so pestering finding out what the headline wrote about her she burst her bubble for a moment what bloody hell you, ding it you want to start a war I end the war I'll inform your Mama and sue your tabloid headlines you've written whom you referring she gotten too many boyfriends you dimwit they're my kiddos and plus they're my childhood brother's and blood brothers.
You dammit don't drag them in you sicko.
She twentyfour then leaving the clubhouse dim as she walked out she an artist that no one knew only one does that is her childhood friends came wondering if something had happened but yet she realized she remembers once she stepped out of the clubhouse since she volunteers at the Al khor international school brtish stream she was then 25 she can only speak English does it makes her an English She speaks Spanish does it means she a Spanish she grown up a heartbeat of roses a golden vocal been searching by her childhood brothers a dute need a comeback it's so quite ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories she since how all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as indian but true she has blood of a royal of jordanian and indonesian but resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her a last wise from a late ghosts that has gone in past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill colour and kindness rose her life to others a duet need a comeback it's so quiet ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories since she about to leave all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as Indian caused her beauty resmbol so many nationality but true is she has blood of a royal Jordanian and Indonesian but a resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her last wise from late ghosts that have gone in a past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and a heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill a colour, and a kindness rose her life to others.
Sometimes my memory of childhood breaks like a wrist. I find myself trying to forget where I come from to eat the pain of never being loved carefully. No one ever showed me what it was like to be gently folded before being put into a box. So now, I struggle to find the places where my creases fall.
Sometimes my memories of childhood are broken glass shattered in different parts of my body to remind me where my trauman comes from. Today my trauma comes from the bottom of my feet, yesterday it came from the palms of my hands. Tomorrow, it will probably find its home sitting in the middle of my chest pulling on my lungs bringing me back to the question that I always seem to ask myself. Why do remember disasters? I remember disasters simply because they raised me.
When I found kindness and comfort
I started to open up
My grey shadows slowly started to disappear
as happiness and laughter took over
I miss my childhood
I miss it so much.
As I turn the pages of my book of life,
I find it has already covered thirty long chapters,
Forget not the way you passed, say sages,
But I hate those childhood days, and I try
To ignore them, not in my recklessness,
Did it purposely, and no more regrets.
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