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random poetry for children kids poems

Can't make up you mind whether you want a funny or sad - long or short - pink or violet poem? Here are a few from our vast poetry collection.



Collection : Poems for Children - 626

 

Poor Crow! by Mary Mapes Dodge

Give me something to eat,
Good people, I pray;
I have really not had
One mouthful today!


I am hungry and cold,
And last night I dreamed
A scarecrow had caught meó
Good land, how I screamed!


Of one little children
And six ailing wives
(No, one wife and six children),
Not one of them thrives.


So pity my case,
Dear people, I pray;
Iím honest, and really
Iíve come a long way.


= = = = = = = = = =



A Cat's Prayer to Bast by Author Unknown

As I lay me down to sleep
I pray to Bast my soul to keep,
I pray to Bast my soul to take,
And transport it to the sandy lands
Where my forbears worshipped were,
Where my ancient kin were much revered
And where the cat first learned to purr.

As I pad on velvet feet
I pray Bast will give me mice to eat,
And as I use my litter tray
I ask that she will find me play,
In her bright heaven where all cats,
Are stroked by Bast's most blessed hands,
And bask and gambol in her care,
Remembering Egypt's ancient sands.

As I knead upon your knees,
I hope that Bast is greatly pleased
To see her child at rest and play,
Fed and cared for every day,
And when I reach that glorious place
And gaze upon her feline face,
I'll ask that Bast will grant you grace
To join me in eternal play.



= = = = = = = = = =



The Old Gumbie Cat by T S Eliot From Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat;
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
And when all the family's in bed and asleep,
She tucks up her skirts to the basement to creep.
She is deeply concerned with the ways of the mice--
Their behaviour's not good and their manners not nice;
So when she has got them lined up on the matting,
She teachs them music, crocheting and tatting.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
Her equal would be hard to find, she likes the warm and sunny spots.
All day she sits beside the hearth or on the bed or on my hat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
As she finds that the mice will not ever keep quiet,
She is sure it is due to irregular diet;
And believing that nothing is done without trying,
She sets right to work with her baking and frying.
She makes them a mouse--cake of bread and dried peas,
And a beautiful fry of lean bacon and cheese.

I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
She sits upon the window-sill, or anything that's smooth and flat:
She sits and sits and sits and sits--and that's what makes a Gumbie Cat!

But when the day's hustle and bustle is done,
Then the Gumbie Cat's work is but hardly begun.
She thinks that the cockroaches just need employment
To prevent them from idle and wanton destroyment.
So she's formed, from that lot of disorderly louts,
A troop of well-disciplined helpful boy-scouts,
With a purpose in life and a good deed to do--
And she's even created a Beetles' Tattoo.

So for Old Gumbie Cats let us now give three cheers--
On whom well-ordered households depend, it appears.



= = = = = = = = = =



Go North, South, East, and West, Young Man by Spike Milligan

Drake is going west, lads
So Tom is going East
But tiny Fred
Just lies in bed,
The lazy little beast.


= = = = = = = = = =



Standing Room Only by Spike Milligan

This population explosion
Said Peter to St. Paul
Is really getting far too much
Just look at the crowd in the hall.
Even here, in Heaven
There isn't any room
I think the world could do with less
Much less fruit in the womb.
Thus Heaven is overcrowded
The numbers are starting to tell
So when the next lot knock at the gates
Tell 'em to 'Go to Hell'.



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