- Published on
My Teddy Bear
I have a little teddy bear
He’s old as he can be.
Though I squash him when I sleep at night
I think he’s fond of me.
His eyes are hanging by a thread
His stuffing’s coming out,
But still he sits upon my bed
And never seems to pout.
He comforts me when I am sad
He gives me good advice.
I think my little teddy bear
Is awfully awfully nice.
by Author Unknown
I have a little teddy bear
He’s old as he can be.
Though I squash him when I sleep at night
I think he’s fond of me.
His eyes are hanging by a thread
His stuffing’s coming out,
But still he sits upon my bed
And never seems to pout.
He comforts me when I am sad
He gives me good advice.
I think my little teddy bear
Is awfully awfully nice.
by Author Unknown
- Published on
Good Night and Good Morning
A fair little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
And said, “Dear work, good night, good night!”
Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying “Caw, caw!” on their way to bed.
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
“Little black things, good night, good night!”
The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
The sheep’s “bleat, bleat!” came over the road;
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
“Good little girl, good night, good night!”
She did not say to the sun, “Good night!”
Though she saw him there like a ball of light,
For she knew he had God’s time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.
The tall pink foxglove bowed his head;
The violets curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
And while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day;
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
“Good morning, good morning! our work is begun.”
by Lord Houghton
Richard Monckton Milnes, also known as 1st Baron Houghton or Lord Houghton, was born on 19 June 1809 in London, England. He became a poet, a patron of literature, and a politician. Richard Monckton Milnes passed on at 76 years of age on 11 August 1885 in Vichy, France.
A fair little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;
Then smoothed her work and folded it right,
And said, “Dear work, good night, good night!”
Such a number of rooks came over her head,
Crying “Caw, caw!” on their way to bed.
She said, as she watched their curious flight,
“Little black things, good night, good night!”
The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed,
The sheep’s “bleat, bleat!” came over the road;
All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,
“Good little girl, good night, good night!”
She did not say to the sun, “Good night!”
Though she saw him there like a ball of light,
For she knew he had God’s time to keep
All over the world, and never could sleep.
The tall pink foxglove bowed his head;
The violets curtsied and went to bed;
And good little Lucy tied up her hair,
And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.
And while on her pillow she softly lay,
She knew nothing more till again it was day;
And all things said to the beautiful sun,
“Good morning, good morning! our work is begun.”
by Lord Houghton
Richard Monckton Milnes, also known as 1st Baron Houghton or Lord Houghton, was born on 19 June 1809 in London, England. He became a poet, a patron of literature, and a politician. Richard Monckton Milnes passed on at 76 years of age on 11 August 1885 in Vichy, France.
- Published on
My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest things about him is the way he likes to grow-
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.
He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
by Robert Louis Stevenson: “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885)
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became 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.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest things about him is the way he likes to grow-
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there’s none of him at all.
He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he’s a coward you can see;
I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an errant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
by Robert Louis Stevenson: “A Child’s Garden of Verses” (1885)
Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson was born on 13 November 1850 in Edinburgh, Scotland. He became 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.
- Published on
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.
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.
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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.
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.
- Published on
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
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
- Published on
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.
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.
- Published on
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)
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)
- Published on
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
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
