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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 - 2314

 

The Road not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.


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Speak roughly to your little boy by Lewis Carroll

Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes;
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.

Cho.-- Wow! wow! wow!

I speak severely to my boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when ye pleases!

Cho.


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There was a Young Lady whose chin by Edward Lear

There was a Young Lady whose chin,
Resembled the point of a pin:
So she had it made sharp,
And purchased a harp,
And played several tunes with her chin.



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Crocodile by J K Annand

When doukin in the River Nile
I met a muckle crocodile.
He flicked his tail, he blinked his ee,
Syne bared his ugsome teeth at me.

Says I, 'I never saw the like.
Cleaning your teeth maun be a fyke !
What sort of besom do ye hae
To brush a set o teeth like thae?'

The crocodile said, 'Nane ava.
I never brush my teeth at aa !
A wee bird redds them up, ye see,
And saves me monie a dentist's fee.'



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O Nightingale that on yon bloomy Spray by John Milton

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy Spray,
Warbl'st at eve, when all the Woods are still
Thou with fresh hope the Lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May,
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day,
First heard before the shallow Cuckoo's bill
Portend success in love; O if Jove's will
Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate
Foretell my hopeless doom in some Grove nigh:
As thou from year to year hath sung too late
For my relief; yet hadst no reason why,
Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy Spray
by John Milton





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