Children

Poem By lizzy Sydney

Children
Children are flowers
Always growing
Fast and slow
Tall and short

And every single one
Is different in a way
Blooming at their own time
When they are ready to mature

Usually bright and cheery
Spreading their good cheer
Making people smile
As they spot one on the way to work

They are all different colours
Yellow, black and red
Yet they are not racist
Against one another

They don’t always co-operate
But in the end they do
Some are big and some are small
But they’ll play till the day is through

For everything there is a season
Eventually they will die
Needing nurturing to thrive
Needing each other to survive

pleasse review I value your opinions greatly

Comments about Children

Lizzy I truly enjoyed reading this marvelous tribute to our children. I can't say it enough, children are our future, and must be treated in a most loving way that prepares them for what they will have to do. If only we would look at them knowing they are God's gift to us and must be nurtured and treasured and of course loved. I love your poem Lizzy, a big (10) from me. I hear tell that welcoming is in order, please then allow me to welcome you also to this site of poem hunters and lovers.--Melvina--
Lizzy...You've done a great job, of describing children! ! Awesome poem...keep up the good work...and welcome to Poemhunter! ! Hugs, Dee
You are writing about my greatest loves, children, and you have done it so very well........marci :)


Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of SYDNEY

Love And The Butterfly

Love is like a butterfly
never here nor there
high or low
not really watching where to go.

The War Hero

A young man when he went away
only 18 on his last birthday
his mother begged and asked him to stay
but he said dutifully 'to my country my soul I must pay

The Water

As I saunter
down on the rough, wet pebbles
and immerse my foot
in the soft blanketing water.

Brittany Spears

Britany Jean Spears
She’s the one everyone fears

My Memories

Today will be a memory
yesterday is a memory drifting away
memories turn into tears,
tearing us apart.