Archive for the ‘Poems for Children’ Category

I went to the animal fair,
The birds and the beasts were there.
The big baboon, by the light of the moon,
Was combing his auburn hair.
The monkey, he got drunk,
And sat on the elephant’s trunk.
The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees,
And what became of the monk, the monk?


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(as told to a child)

As I went out, a Crow
In a low voice said, “Oh,
I was looking for you.
How do you do?
I just came to tell you
To tell Lesley (will you?)
That her little Bluebird
Wanted me to bring word
That the north wind last night
That made the stars bright
And made ice on the trough
Almost made him cough
His tail feathers off.
He just had to fly!
But he sent her Good-by,
And said to be good,
And wear her red hood,
And look for skunk tracks
In the snow with an ax –
And do everything!
And perhaps in the spring
He would come back and sing.”

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When sheep are clouds and clouds are sheep
And one lies down at night,
What is it that he counts to sleep
In failing candlelight?

Does comfort come from clouds that walk,
Or woolly sheep that fly?
Methinks if clouds or sheep could talk
They’d tell us who and why.


photo by Kevin Tuck at


© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.

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The grass is brown. Oh, Mother, why?
The rain won’t fall and so it’s dry.

The river’s slow. Oh, Mother, why?
The clouds are missing from the sky.

The deer are thin. Oh, Mother, why?
The grass is gone and some may die.

It’s dry! It’s dry! Oh, Mother, why?
We’re in a drought; for rain we cry.

Why is there drought, oh, Mother, why?
Without a rain, the weeks go by.


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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You’re Just A Tree

Out! Out to sea,
I’d love to go,
And thus I lean
To-ward my beau. 

But others cry,
“Out? Out to sea!
You cannot go;
You’re just a tree” 

And on my dream
Those others lean
And make it flat –
Not that they’re mean. 

The picture’s old;
One day a man
Came by and cut
Me with a plan. 

He took his time,
And worked with craft.
I’m not a tree;
I am a raft! 

Out! Out to sea!
No lean – I go!
And there I ride
Upon my beau.


photo by Kevin Tuck at


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.


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The Colors Of A Drought

The color of a drought is brown:
   The green in grass is gone.
And cracks upon the dusty earth
   Open their mouths and yawn. 

The creeks and streams are narrower,
   With some completely dry.
And Robin sings a thirsty song,
   And Bambi gives a sigh. 

The color of a drought is blue;
   The sky has lost its white.
The clouds are few and far between
   Like left is far from right. 

And day by day, the sky is blue
   Like water used to be
When rivers ran like swift feet fly
   And gurgled happily. 

The brown and blue of drought can paint
   A drabness in the land,
And turn the joy of man and child
   To blues as dry as sand.


link to other drought poems:


photo by Kevin Tuck at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/naGDvk0/Parched+ground


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.

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English: "The Jabberwock, with eyes of fl...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)


‘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.

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            It Is A Villain, Nell

You may think, little girl, that it is swell,
But close exam the animal will flunk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell! 

Admiring its soft hair, one cannot tell.
Focus on the tail and you are sunk.
You may think, little girl, that it is swell. 

For it, you’ll get a special place in hell
In tomato juice: a bath, a dunk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell! 

Its black and white give off no warning bell;
Dear nose and eyes will make you tell me, “bunk!”
You may think, little girl, that it is swell. 

But when it hits you with that awful smell,
You’ll end in isolation like a monk.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell! 

It has appealing points to sway, to sell;
So when you first encounter that cute skunk
You may think, little girl, that it is swell.
I’m telling you: it is a villain, Nell!


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.

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English: Twinkle Twinkle little star (English)...

(Photo credit: Acerview54 via Wikipedia)

              The Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky. 

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 

Then the traveler in the dark,
Thanks you for your tiny spark!
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so. 

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye,
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveler in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.


One of my granddaughters, now 18 months,
frequently “sings” the song.  She doesn’t get
any words right yet, but she has the melody
down.  She and I have been watching
videos of songs on Youtube together since
she was 9 months old.  She’s got her own
“playlist”.  Her favorites are the Giggle-
bellies, but the first link is to the version
of Twinkle she may like the best. The
Gigglebellies mix in another song with it
and it’s quite beautiful, too.




Here’s a little jewel that rewrites the first
stanza of the poem:


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Princess Tess (2)

Said the Princess, “something”, but the parents didn’t hear.
And thus they asked, “What’s that, our precious little dear?”
So Princess Tess, who’s not yet four, began to spell it out,
“O T R E” and “X Y Z”, “Or do I have to shout?”


photo by melodi2 (Lee) at http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/mjYztek/Princess+headwear+1


© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2013.


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