Childhood

Perseverance

10/14/2018

Perseverance

Dear Polly, these are joyful days!
     Your feet can choose their own sweet ways;
You have no care of anything.
     Free as a swallow on the wing,
You hunt the hay-field over
     To find a four-leaved clover.

But this I tell you, Polly dear,
     One thing in life you need not fear:
Bad luck, I’m certain, never haunts
     A child who works for what she wants,
And hunts a hay-field over
     To find a four-leaved clover!

The little leaf is not so wise
     As it may seem in foolish eyes;
But then, dear Polly, don’t you see,
     Since you were willing carefully
To hunt the hay-field over,
     You found your four-leaved clover!

Your patience may have long to wait,
     Whether in little things or great,
But all good luck, you soon will learn,
     Must come to those who nobly earn.
Who hunts the hay-field over
     Will find the four-leaved clover.

by Sarah Orne Jewett: as published in “St. Nicholas Magazine” (September 1883), page 840

Sarah Orne Jewett was born on 3 September 1849 in South Berwick, Maine, United States of America. She became a novelist, a short story writer, and a poet. Sarah Orne Jewett passed on at 59 years of age on 24 June 1909 in South Berwick, Maine, United States of America.

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My Footprints

10/10/2018

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My Footprints

Someday I’ll jump through puddles,
     take a stroll or run a race.
Someday I’ll walk across the street
     or maybe walk in space.
Someday I’ll scale a mountain
     or I’ll join a ballet corps.
Someday I’ll walk a tightrope
     or explore the ocean floor.
Someday these feet will do some things
     that only Heaven knows,
but for today they’re happy,
     just to wiggle all their toes!

by Author Unknown

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Little Fred

10/8/2018

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Little Fred

When little Fred
     Was called to bed,
He always acted right;
     He kissed Mama,
And then Papa,
     And wished them all good-night.

He made no noise,
     Like naughty boys,
But gently up the stairs
     Directly went,
When he was sent,
     And always said his prayers.

by Author Unknown

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Coasting Down the Hill

9/14/2018

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Coasting Down the Hill

Frosty is the morning;
     But the sun is bright,
Flooding all the landscape
     With its golden light.
Hark the sounds of laughter
     And the voices shrill!
See the happy children
     Coasting down the hill.

There are Tom and Charley,
     And their sister Nell;
There are John and Willie,
     Kate and Isabel, -
Eyes with pleasure beaming,
     Cheeks with health aglow;
Bless the merry children,
     Trudging through the snow!

Now I hear them shouting,
     “Ready! Clear the track!”
Down the slope they’re rushing,
     Now they’re trotting back.

Full of fun and frolic,
     Thus they come and go.
Coating down the hillside,
     Trudging through the snow.

by Author Unknown

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Nothing to Worry About

9/12/2018

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Nothing to Worry About

Confessions of a child entering school for the first time - who according to adults, “has nothing to worry about.”

My name is Donald and I don’t know anything.

I have new underwear, a new sweater, a loose tooth and I didn’t sleep last night. I am worried.

What if the school bus jerks after I get on and I lose my balance and my pants rip and everyone laughs?

What if I have to go to the bathroom before we get to school?

What if a bell rings and everyone goes into a door and a man yells, “Where do you belong?” and I don’t know?

What if my shoestring comes untied and someone says, “Your shoestring is untied. We’ll all watch while you tie it”?

What if the trays in the cafeteria are too tall for me to reach?

What if the thermos lid on my soup is on too tight and when I try to open it, it breaks?

What if my loose tooth wants to come out when we’re supposed to have our heads down and be quiet?

What if the teacher tells the class to go to the bathroom and I can’t go?

What if I get hot and want to take my sweater off and someone steals it?

What if I splash water on my name tag and my name disappears and no one will know who I am?

What if they send us out to play and all the swings are taken? What do I do?

What if the wind blows all the important papers out of my hands that I’m supposed to take home?

What if they mispronounce my last name and everyone laughs?

What if my teacher doesn’t make her D’s like Mom taught me?

What if I spend the whole day without a friend?

What if the teacher gives a seat to everyone and I’m left over?

What if the windows in the bus steam over and I won’t be able to tell when I get to my stop?

I’m just a little kid but maybe I’m smarter than I think I am. At least I know better than to tell a five-year-old with a loose tooth who has never been out of the yard by himself before that he has “nothing to worry about.”

by Erma Bombeck

Erma Louise Bombeck was born as Erma Louise Fiste on 21 February 1927 in Bellbrook, Ohio, United States of America. She became the beloved American humorist whose newspaper column, “At Wit’s End” grew to such popularity that it became nationally syndicated in 1965, and eventually became a regular feature in 800 different newspapers. From 1965 to 1996, she wrote more than 4,000 newspaper columns. Erma Louise Bombeck passed on at 69 years of age on 22 April 1996 in San Francisco, California, United States of America. Her 15 published books are available from your favorite booksellers.

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The Land of Counterpane

9/7/2018

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The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed,
     I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
     To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
     I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
     Among the bedclothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
     All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
     And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
     That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
     The pleasant land of counterpane.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

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Best

8/21/2018

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Best

I like to wear my party frock
That Auntie bought in town,
My patent shoes with shiny toes,
My Sunday hat with little bows,
And ribbons hanging down.
I like to hear the people say:
“How pretty Nancy looks to-day!”

But Daddy shakes his head and says:
“You’ll make her very vain.”
And Granny says: “She should be dressed
In everything that’s of the best
But rather neat and plain.”
And Mother says: “My goodness me!
Who can this lovely lady be?”

by Rose Fyleman

Rose Amy Fyleman was born on 6 March 1877 in Nottingham, England. She became a writer and a poet. She is known for her works for children, about fairies. Rose Amy Fyleman passed on at 80 years of age on 1 August 1957 in Saint Albans, Hertfordshire, England.

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Little Raindrops

8/20/2018

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Little Raindrops

Oh, where do you come from,
     You little drops of rain,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
     Down the window pane?

They won’t let me walk,
     And they won’t let me play,
And they won’t let me go
     Out of doors at all today.

They put away my playthings.
     Because I broke them all,
And then they locked up all my bricks,
     And took away my ball.

Tell me, little raindrops,
     Is that the way you play,
Pitter patter, pitter patter,
     All the rainy day?

They say I’m very naughty,
     But I’ve nothing else to do
But sit here at the window;
     I should like to play with you.

The little raindrops cannot speak,
     But ‘pitter patter pat’
Means, “We can play on this side,
     Why can’t you play on that?”

by Aunt Effie

Jane Euphemia Saxby, also known by the pseudonym Aunt Effie, was born as Jane Euphemia Browne on 27 January 1811 in Bridekirk, Cumberland, England. She was married to Stephen Henry Saxby in 1862. She became a hymn writer and a poet. Her published works include, “The Dove on the Cross” (1849), “Aunt Effie’s Rhymes for Little Children” (1852), “The Voice of the Bird” (1875), and “Aunt Effie’s Gift to the Nursery” (1876). Jane Euphemia Saxby passed on at 87 years of age on 25 March 1898 in Bedminster, Somerset, England.

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Foreign Lands

8/18/2018

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Foreign Lands

Up into the cherry tree
     Who should climb but little me?
I held the trunk with both my hands
     And looked abroad on foreign lands.

I saw the next door garden lie,
     Adorned with flowers, before my eye,
And many pleasant places more
     That I had never seen before.

I saw the dimpling river pass
     And be the sky’s blue looking-glass;
The dusty roads go up and down
     With people tramping in to town.

If I could find a higher tree,
     Farther and farther I should see,
To where the grown-up river slips
     Into the sea among the ships;

To where the roads on either hand
     Lead onward into fairy land,
Where all the children dine at five,
     And all the playthings come alive.

by Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He was an essayist, a novelist, a travel writer, a poet, and a lyricist. He is known as the author of the adventure novels “Treasure Island” (1883) and “Kidnapped” (1886), the science fiction novel, “The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” (1886), and the poetry collection, “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885), all of which remain popular even now with readers of all ages. Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson passed on at 44 years of age on 3 December 1894 in Vailima, Samoan Islands.

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The New Kid

8/11/2018

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The New Kid

Our baseball team never did very much,
     We had me and PeeWee and Earl and Dutch.
And the Oak Street Tigers always got beat
     Until the new kid moved in on our street.

The kid moved in with a mitt and a bat
     And an official New York Yankee hat.
The new kid plays shortstop or second base
     And can outrun us all in any place.

The kid never muffs a grounder or fly
     No matter how hard it’s hit or how high.
And the new kid always acts quite polite,
     Never yelling or spitting or starting a fight.

We were playing the league champs just last week;
     They were trying to break our winning streak.
In the last inning the score was one-one,
     When the new kid swung and hit a home run.

A few of the kids and their parents say
     They don’t believe that the new kid should play.
But she’s good as me, Dutch, PeeWee, or Earl,
     So we don’t care that the new kid’s a girl.

by Mike Makley (1975)

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My Shoelace Blues

8/5/2018

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My Shoelace Blues

I’ve tried and tried to tie you, shoe.
     I’ve never done it yet.
A loop that flip-flops on the floor
     Is as close as I can get.
I’ve practiced on spaghetti.
     I’ve practiced on the mop.
I’ve practiced on my sister
     Until she made me stop.
So here’s the loop again, shoe.
     I’ll hold it with my thumb.
I’ll wrap the other end around
     And yank it into bows . . .

. . . it’s done!

by Author Unknown

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Why God Made Little Boys

8/4/2018

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Why God Made Little Boys

God made a world out of His dreams,
     Of magic mountains, oceans and streams,
Prairies and plains and wooded land.
     Then paused and thought
I need someone to stand on top of the mountains,
     To conquer the seas, explore the plains and climb the trees.
Someone to start out small and grow,
     Sturdy and strong like a tree and so
He created boys, full of spirit and fun
     To explore and conquer, to romp and run
With dirty faces, and banged up chins
     With courageous hearts and boyish grins.
And when He had completed the task He’d begun,
     He surely said, “That’s a job well done.”

by Henry Alfred Dixon

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Why God Made Little Girls

8/4/2018

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Why God Made Little Girls

God made the world with its towering trees,
     Majestic mountains and restless seas.
Then stopped and said, “It needs one more thing,
     Someone to laugh and dance and sing.
To walk in the woods and gather flowers,
     To commune with nature in quiet hours.”
So God created little girls.
     With laughing eyes and bouncing curls.
With joyful hearts and infectious smiles,
     Enchanting ways and feminine wiles.
And when He’d completed the task He’d begun,
     He was pleased and proud of the job He’d done.
For the world when seen through a little girl’s eyes,
     Greatly resembles His own paradise.

by Henry Alfred Dixon

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What I Have Learned

7/9/2018

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What I Have Learned

I know numbers, I know shapes,
     I know purple stands for grapes.
I know red, white, and blue;
     I know green and yellow too!

I’ve made friends and I know how to share,
     And what is wrong and what is fair.
I know what policemen and mailmen do;
     Nurses and firemen too!

I know rhymes, I know sounds,
     I’ve had ups and I’ve had downs.
I’ve been quiet though I’ve also giggled;
     I’ve sat still and other times wiggled.

I’ve paid attention in every class,
     Read and heard each word first to last.
I’ve worked all year for this degree;
     Everybody aren’t you proud of me!

Now it’s with happy memories
     That I go on to learn and explore,
With great hope and expectations
     For what next year holds in store.

by Author Unknown

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Kids Who Are Different

7/4/2018

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Kids Who Are Different

Here’s to the kids who are different,
The kids who don’t always get A’s.
     The kids that have ears,
     twice as big as their peers,
Or have noses that go on for days.

Here’s to the kids that are different,
The kids that are just out of step.
     The kids they all tease,
     Who have cuts on their knees,
And whose sneakers are constantly wet.

Here’s to the kids that are different,
The kids with a mischievous streak.
     For when they have grown,
     As history has shown,
It’s their difference that makes them unique.

by Digby Wolfe

James Digby Wolfe was born on 4 June 1929 in London, England. He was an English-born television and movie actor, screenwriter, and lecturer in dramatic writing at university level. He worked in the United Kingdom, Australia, and the United States of America. James Digby Wolfe passed on at 82 years of age on 2 May 2012 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, United States of America.

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The Question

7/3/2018

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The Question

People always say to me
“What do you think you’d like to be
When you grow up?”
And, I say, “Why,
I think I’d like to be the sky
Or a plane or train or mouse
Or maybe be a haunted house
Or something furry, rough and wild . . .
Or maybe I will stay a child.”

by Karla Kuskin

Karla Kuskin, who sometimes wrote under the pseudonym Nicholas J. Charles, was born as Karla Seidman on 17 July 1932 in New York City, New York, United States of America. She became a writer, a poet, and an illustrator of children’s literature. Karla Kuskin passed on at 77 years of age on 20 August 2009 in Seattle, Washington, United States of America.

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Babies Have so Much to Do

6/30/2018

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Babies Have so Much to Do

In a world that’s all brand-new,
Babies have so much to do!

Laughing, making funny faces,
Finding out those ticklish places . . .

Cuddling up and wiggling toes,
Looking cute in tiny clothes . . .

Tasting, touching, reaching high,
Crawling under, scooting by . . .

Learning words and having fun . . .
Making memories one by one.

by Author Unknown

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Back to School

6/24/2018

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Back to School

Today I hurry off to school,
To work and learn and play,
I’m in a brand new grade this year,
What a happy day!

by Starlette Howard

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Swimming

6/24/2018

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Swimming

When all the days are hot and long
     And robin bird has ceased his song,
I go swimming every day
     And have the finest kind of play.

I’ve learned to dive and I can float
     As easily as does a boat;
I splash and plunge and laugh and shout
     Till Daddy tells me to come out.

It’s much too soon; I’d like to cry
     For I can see the ducks go by,
And Daddy Duck - how I love him -
     He lets his children swim and swim!

I feel that I would be in luck
     If I could only be a duck!

by Clinton Scollard

Clinton Scollard was born on 18 September 1860 in Fayetteville, New York, United States of America. He was married to Jessie Belle Rittenhouse on 20 March 1924. He became a poet, a fiction writer, and a college professor. Clinton Scollard passed on at 72 years of age on 19 November 1932.

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Being Brave at Night

5/16/2018

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Being Brave at Night

The other night ‘bout two o’clock, or maybe it was three,
     An elephant with shining tusks came chasing after me.
His trunk was wavin’ in the air an’ spoutin’ jets of steam
     An’ he was out to eat me up, but still I didn’t scream
Or let him see that I was scared - a better thought I had,
     I just escaped from where I was and crawled in bed with dad.

One time there was a giant who was horrible to see,
     He had three heads and twenty arms, an’ he came after me
And red hot fire came from his mouths and every hand was red
     And he declared he’d grind my bones and make them into bread.
But I was just too smart for him, I fooled him might bad,
     Before his hands could collar me I crawled in bed with dad.

I ain’t scared of nothin’ that comes pesterin’ me at night.
     Once I was chased by forty ghosts all shimmery an’ white.
An’ I just raced ’em round the room an’ let ’em think maybe
     I’d have to stop an’ rest awhile, when they could capture me.
Then when they leapt onto my bed, Oh Gee! but they were mad
     To find that I had slipped away an’ crawled in bed with dad.

No giants, ghosts or elephants have dared to come in there
     ’Coz if they did he’d beat ’em up and chase ’em to their lair.
They just hang ’round the children’s rooms an’ snap an’ snarl an’ bite
     An’ laugh if they can make ’em yell for help with all their might.
But I don’t ever yell out loud. I’m not that sort of lad,
     I slip from out the covers and I crawl in bed with dad.

by Edgar A. Guest: “Rhymes Of Childhood” (1924)

Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest was born on 20 August 1881 in Birmingham, England. He immigrated with his family to the United States of America in 1891. From his first published work in the “Detroit Free Press” until his passing in 1959, he penned some 11,000 poems that were syndicated in 300 newspapers and collected into more than twenty books. Mr. Guest is reputed to have had a new poem published in a newspaper every day for more than thirty years. He became known as ‘The People’s Poet,’ writing poems that were of a sentimental and optimistic nature. Edgar Albert ‘Eddie’ Guest passed on at 77 years of age on 5 August 1959 in Detroit, Michigan, United States of America.

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Now We Are Six

5/15/2018

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Now We Are Six

When I was One,
     I had just begun.
When I was Two,
     I was nearly new.
When I was Three
     I was hardly me.
When I was Four,
     I was not much more.
When I was Five,
I was just alive.
     But now I am Six,
I’m as clever as clever,
     So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.

by Alan Alexander Milne

Alan Alexander Milne, also known as A. A. Milne, was born on 18 January 1882 in Kilburn, London, England. He was a novelist, a playwright, a poet, and a children’s book author. He is known as the writer of “Winnie the Pooh” (1926). Alan Alexander Milne passed on at 74 years of age on 31 January 1956 in Hartfield, Sussex, England.

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Vanilla Please

5/14/2018

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Vanilla Please

I really do like ice cream -
     All kinds, like peach and cherry,
Tutti-frutti, caramel,
     Chocolate and strawberry.

But Mommy says on special days
     When I’m dressed up in frills
That I must choose vanilla -
     Just in case of spills.

by Patricia White

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