These Baby Ode poems are examples of Ode poems about Baby. These are the best examples of Baby Ode poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
The"tail" I have to tell, starts off really sad.
My sweet doggie Murphy died and my heart, it hurt so bad.
Until one day in early spring, I got a call that made my heart sing!
There were some puppies born in Waco, the daddy -Jasper, and mommy- Juneau.
Four little boys, three little girls. But the picture of one boy, made my heart twirl!
So I waited for a week or two, to meet my little puppy-oh so new!
I named him Humphrey, such a handsome boy! He has brought laughter back and oh what a joy! He's super cute, and very smart. Many would say, he's a work of art!
He's learning new tricks, and how to potty outside. So many rules to learn and abide!
Humphrey is growing so quickly, the puppy breath will soon disappear. He will be an adult in less than a year! Every stage of his life is a blessing from above. I guess that's the true meaning of what we call "puppy love".
The were the three Magi with mantels and beards, traveling
on strong camels as far as Bethlehem and having
seen a wondrous star, they began their long journey
by bringing precious gifts, but they warned Joseph and Mary
of Herod's malicious intent...so they fled to Egypt
on a donkey that never complain of a sore hip!
They believed in the Savior as Herod himself full of pride,
and being very wise, they never returned
to tell him what kind of child they had found!
They brought their gifts and knelt at a child
whose fate as foretold was to die for us all,
and he gladly accepted them hearing His Father's call!
Not having heard from the Wise Men who had lied to Him,
Herod sent his soldiers to kill all children under three: screams terrorized Bethlehem;
no, they weren't moved by their mother's painful cry
and shedding their innocent blood they revenged that lie!
O mothers of Bethlehem, Jesus knew that they were slaughtered because of Him!
O mothers of Bethlehem, you wept and moaned as they bled as a sacrificial lamb!
They believed in the Savior from what they had read,
and wanted to see for themselves the glorious event that Daniel spoken of:
the brightest star shining over Bethlehem as angels sang,
announcing Christ's birth in a small town groping on a hill of citrus and clove!
Written on December 16, 2012
When mother nature,
Run my baby run,
When her pregnance
swells a little,
Oh run, my baby run.
Her claws close life's
chord, of umbilical,
Her voice R&Bs and POPs
notes, so unearthical,
Oh Rihanna, my meek
kind of love,
I now sing mama, ram-
Note when life seems not
Simply run my baby run,
Run towards a place to
A sweet sanctuary in my
Please feel comfortable
And if ever predators
persue your precious life,
Oh again my heart sings
Run, my baby, run.
The nation is thrown into grief.
Our national flag is flying at half mast.
Everyone is wearing a sack cloth.
The dangling axe fell on us.
And the mighty has fallen.
Our hearts are filled with dread,
And our eyes as heavy as lead.
Nigeria, Africa’s number one soccer nation,
Has been given a run for their money by the Ghanaians.
Culminating our early exit from the African nations cup.
The green and white jersey that we adore,
Have been dragged in the mud.
These are not the Eagles we have been celebrating.
Or are these Eagles suffering from bird flu,
That they cannot glide.
Their spirit was willing but their flesh were weak.
When we were young, we were strong,
Now we’ve grown but we are weak.
The reputation that took us years to build,
Have been destroyed over night.
Because we went to fetch water with a basket.
The baby has been thrown away with the baby water.
The Midas touch we used to have have been used on us,
Because we could not strike while the iron was hot.
The hunter has been hunted.
And we have fallen from frying pan to fire.
Football has kept us together as a nation for many years.
The Ghanaians has put a knife on what kept us together.
And we have fallen apart.
Once beaten, twice shy.
We hide our faces in shame.
No one is to be blamed.
What is sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.
Every dog has its own day and it was not our day.
A soldier lives to fight another day.
And never says never because quitters are losers.
The big question is,
Shall our bones rise again?
Or have we withered like the cursed fig tree.
Only the bowel of time will Tell.
Everyday I awake to the softness of the sun rays, shining brightly through my window
panes, I wonder to myself as I wipe the sleep away, from my eyes, before I get on my
knees to pray. I bow my head and close my eyes, to speak the words that comes from my
hearts, forming into sentences that goes up toward the skies,
Lord hear me now for I am about to cry,
I am missing my baby girl,Lord I am so tired,
I am missing my baby girl, Lord help me I am feeling a little wired,
I am missing my baby girl, Lord my soul feels like it's on fire.
I feel her soul passing through these rooms, giving life to every flower as I watch them
bloom, I smell her scent past through these walls, like a fire leaving behind it's
fumes,I see her smiling as if she were in front of me, listening to me, clapping for me,
as I sing the blues.
I am missing my baby girl Lord, and I don't know what to do,
I am missing my baby girl, Lord I am so confused,
Heavenly father help me, clear my mind so I can just get through,
these terrible times as I lie hear listening to this priest read from the obituary at my
ten year old's funeral.
Lord I am missing my baby girl, oh Lord I need you
so please, please, hear my prays to help me make it through.
By N. McCoy
(To Maria, In Loving Memory of Markita Weaver)
RIP Baby Girl We Miss You