Poetry 3

Here are some poems for children. Feel free to suggest others via our CONTACT US page. Enjoy!

The Purple Cow

Gelett Burgess

I never saw a purple cow,
I never hope to see one,
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I’d rather see than be one!

Who Has Seen the Wind?

Christina Rossetti

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.
Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

The Lion and Albert

Marriott Edgar

There’s a famous seaside place called Blackpool
That’s noted for fresh air and fun
And Mr. and Mrs. Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son

A grand little lad were young Albert
All dressed in his best, quite a swell
With a stick with an horse’s head handle
The finest that Woolworth’s could sell

They didn’t think much to the ocean
The waves they were fiddling and small
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded
‘Fact, nothin’ to laugh at at all!

So, seeking for further amusement
They paid, and went into the zoo
Where they’d lions and tigers and camels
And old ale and sandwiches, too

There were one great big lion called Wallace
His nose was all covered with scars
He lay in a somnolent posture
With the side of ‘is face on the bars

Now Albert had heard about lions
How they was ferocious and wild
To see Wallace lyin’ so peaceful
Well it didn’t seem right to the child

So straightway the brave little feller
Not showin’ a morsel of fear
Took ‘is stick with the horse’s head handle
And shoved it in Wallace’s ear

You could see that the lion didn’t like it
For givin’ a kind of a roll
He pulled Albert inside the cage with him
And swallowed the little lad whole!

Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence
And didn’t know what to do next
Said “Mother, yon lion’s ate Albert!”
And Mother said “Ee, I am vexed”

Then Mr. and Mrs. Ramsbottom, quite rightly
When all is said and done
Complained to the animal keeper
That the lion had eaten their son

The keeper was quite nice about it
He said “What a nasty mishap
Are you sure that it’s your boy he’s eaten?”
Pa said, “Am I sure? There’s his cap!”

The manager had to be sent for
He came and he said “What’s to-do?”
Pa said “Yon lion’s ate Albert
And him in his Sunday clothes, too!”

Then Mother said “Right’s right, young feller-
I think it’s a shame and a sin
For a lion to go and eat Albert
And after we paid to come in”

The manager wanted no trouble
He took out his purse right away
Sayin’ “How much to settle the matter?”
Pa says “What do you usually pay?”

But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone
She said “No, someone’s got to be summonsed!”
So that was decided upon

Then off they went to the police station
In front of the Magistrate chap
They told him what happened to Albert
And proved it by showing his cap

The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name

At that Mother got proper blazing
“And thank you, sir, kindly, ” said she-
“What, waste all our lives raisin’ children
To feed ruddy lions? Not me!

My Cat is Fat

James McDonald

I’ve a cat named Vesters,
And he eats all day.
He always lays around,
And never wants to play.

Not even with a squeaky toy,
Nor anything that moves.
When I have him exercise,
He always disapproves.

So we’ve put him on a diet,
But now he yells all day.
And even though he’s thinner,
He still won’t come and play.

I had a Little Boidie

Bastiaan Remmelzwaal

I had a little boidie
sitting on my knee
when I tried to capture it
it flew away from me

The love that I could not restrain
set off one sunny day
for brighter skies and open fields
no longer would she stay

So when you see a boidie sweet
sitting on your knee
stuff the pretty feathered creep
and post her back to me


Shel Silverstein

Underneath my outside face
There’s a face that none can see.
A little less smiley,
A little less sure,
But a whole lot more like me


Shel Silverstein

I made myself a snowball
As perfect as could be.
I thought I’d keep it as a pet
And let it sleep with me.
I made it some pajamas
And a pillow for its head.
Then last night it ran away,
But first it wet the bed.

Wind on the Hill

A A Milne

No one can tell me,
Nobody knows,
Where the wind comes from,
Where the wind goes.

It’s flying from somewhere
As fast as it can,
I couldn’t keep up with it,
Not if I ran.

But if I stopped holding
The string of my kite,
It would blow with the wind
For a day and a night.

And then when I found it,
Wherever it blew,
I should know that the wind
Had been going there too.

So then I could tell them
Where the wind goes…
But where the wind comes from
Nobody knows.

The Swing

Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside–

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown–
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Elaine the Complainer

Kenn Nesbitt

My name is Elaine
and I like to complain.
Complaining is all that I do.
I moan when it’s hot
and I groan when it’s not.
I whine when the sky is too blue.

I fuss that the food
on my plate must be chewed.
I whimper whenever I clean.
I frequently fret
if my bath gets me wet.
I gripe if the grass is too green.

I act like my brain
is in terrible pain
when people are being polite.
But then, if they’re rude,
it will ruin my mood;
I’ll grumble and mumble all night.

But though I delight
in complaining all night,
there’s one thing I simply can’t see.
I don’t understand
(since I’m clearly so grand)
why people complain about me.


Lewis Carroll (1832-1898)

Courage, love, and good versus evil are the major themes of the poem. The poem revolves around the heroic victory of the boy who risks his life to kill Jabberwocky. Although his father warns him about the evil creature, the boy musters up the courage to eradicate evil from the world.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;
      Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
      And the mome raths outgrabe.

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

Edward Lear (1812-1888)

Edward Lear was an English artist, illustrator, musician, author and poet, now known mostly for his literary nonsense in poetry and prose and especially his limericks. Born in the London suburb of Holloway, Lear was the 20th of 21 children (and youngest to survive) of Ann and Jeremiah Lear, a stockbroker. Even though he lived to be 75, his health was always delicate; he had poor eyesight and suffered from chronic respiratory problems. At the age of five he experienced his first epileptic seizure.

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
   In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
   Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
   And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
    What a beautiful Pussy you are,
         You are,
         You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”

Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
   How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
   But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
   To the land where the Bong-Tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
   With a ring at the end of his nose,
             His nose,
             His nose,
   With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
   Your ring?” Said the Piggy, “I will.”
So they took it away, and were married next day
   By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
   Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
   They danced by the light of the moon,
             The moon,
             The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.


Bastiaan Remmelzwaal

Go to sleep my darling
You’ve had your story
Now go to sleep.

Yes sweetheart?
Daddy, why is the sky blue?
Good question, my angel
I am not sure
Probably because the sea is blue
Now close your eyes and go to sleep.

Yes darling?
Daddy, why is the sea blue?
Good question, my angel
I am not sure
Probably because the sky is blue
Now close your eyes and go to sleep.

Good night darling.