These Child Personification poems are examples of Personification poems about Child. These are the best examples of Child Personification poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
A puzzle piece you are to me
Like a vine without any leaves.
Your heart is pure your soul is
Gold, the sweetest thing I'll
ever hold! A miracle in my eyes
it seemed, knowing they said
no babies for me! Always a
surprise you seem to be just
like a puzzle piece! At 9 months
you walked but not until 4 did
you first talk! Always a terror
making a beautiful mess always
a surprise that has yet to be
met! The twists and turns I
know we will see will seem
somewhat like a roller coaster
to me! The milestones and
special gifts you bring will make
my life seem Like a dream, my
special boy I have always said
How special I knew not till
Aspergers they said! The
journey will be trying the
journey will seem long! But
with our family together we will
chug along! My special boy I
love you so and cannot wait to
see you mature and grow! Now
we have a goal we have our
dream you see to make you the
perfect fitting puzzle piece!!
Written by: Christina Kirks
McCullouch 04/05/2012 For
Jonathan S McCullouch Jr
Mommy loves you to eternity
and beyond! Forever and
Little sparrow, what troubles thee
is it the stigma you face
little sparrow, what pierces thee
is it the shame of disgrace
is it the bitterness in your heart,
or the offense you can't forgive
is it the anguish that sets you apart,
or the hurt that holds you captive
what befalls you
is neither unfelt nor unknown
God cares and calls you
when you're cast out and all alone
God will never forsake you
in your time of need;
God will never permit you
to suffer or bleed.
02/19/2014; for "TO HEAL A HEART" Contest
I was dreaming, when I was awaken, of a child's face.
Who held no expression. No thoughts, no feelings,
Who was in a deep depression.
She was in a world of alcohol and drugs, a world of no hope.
She was in such misery, which meant she had no serenity
Her life was in such distress, how could she get rid of this mess.
Alcohol and drugs was her way of life, reality just bites.
Sometimes she was such a dope, but treatment and A.A. was her only hope.
She could of died that cold November night, but she didn't, she put up a fight.
To look at her face that holds an expression.
To see her eyes, that have no depression,
She is very courageous to say, that alcohol and drugs are not the way.
She finally found some peace of mind,
Because that child's face was really mine.
Hello world here I am this is how it is going to go you accept me for who I am or you are not.
I am a child of God and I know for a fact that he made me in his own special way.
So sick and tired of people saying what is beautiful and what is not.
I am like a rose so delicate, soft and beautiful I shine like the sun with that special glow.
So sick and tired of the magazines saying that I have to be a size in order to be accepted.
I have to look like a movie star I have to have big breasts, a flat stomach and a big butt.
In order to be called beautiful I am a goddess anyhow I am a queen who shines with the stars who glows with the moon and who is beaming like the sun.
I am who I am and I refuse to change for anyone they are going to have to accept me for who I am or they are going to have to keep it moving.
I love who I am in this skin I am in this skin I shine in this skin I glow in this skin I am a child if God.
By John Weaver
Whenever I dream of my little girl she runs and shouts and plays
Like all the other children in all their boisterous ways
I see her skip, I see her trip; I hear her laugh and cry
Then when she’s had her fun, home she’ll run and into my arms she’ll fly
With a great big hug and a teasing tug, she’ll cuddle me close and say
‘Daddy I love you heaps and heaps’ in her cheeky little way.
Whenever I dream of my little girl, she’s healthy, fit and well
With eyes alight and a smile so bright it’s really hard to tell
That my dream is a wish and a longing, a hope for something new
For her life to be one that is normal and able-bodied too.
But then I awake and I have to forsake my dream for what is true
That she cannot walk and she cannot talk like the other children do
That she cannot shout and skip about and cuddle me close and say
The things she desperately wants to, yet in her own special way…
Instead she talks to me with her eyes and reassures me with her smile
That all is well and I can tell that she’s happy all the while
Knowing that one day in some magical way, we’ll play together and scheme
And sing and shout and skip about…in an everlasting dream.
By John Weaver & Dedicated to Liz
Who cares for the carer? is the question that I ask.
Who is helping them help another with their overwhelming task
Who is trying to ensure they remain healthy, fit and strong
As they nurse and feed the one in need all day and all night long?
Who thinks about the carer? is the thought that comes to me
When all thought is for the needy and that’s the way it ought to be
But just a little bit of thoughtfulness would not go astray
For the one who works and struggles without a thought for pay.
Who worries about the carer? is my other great concern
If they should fall to sickness where would the needy turn?
The one they love is the one they want and on whom they depend
To wash and feed and dress them and to be with them to the end
Who would care for the needy? is the fact we have to face
If something happened to the carer then who would replace
That committed and devoted, caring loving soul
Who gave their all without complaint in a hard and stressful role.
But we know who will care for the carer
When their mortal coil is through
When all their earthly labours get the recognition that is due
When at last they can rest eternal with no further demands
In peace and joy and secure in the Greatest Carer’s hands.
Flowers, grass, bushes, trees, attracted me in garden
In centre, a tree stump seemed to have complain
Stump was sobbing, none was caring
Moved by tears, I moved closer to stump
Stump bit in solace, narrated nostalgia bit by bit
“ Was once gardens fame tree, grew lovers favorite flowers,
Lovers plucked flowers, friends wish came true for sure
On Valentine day, seeking wish fulfilling flower
Lovers thronged, broke stem as they hysterically lunged,
Lovers got flowers, their love life flowered
A child could not get flower, wept on failure
Queried, you are a child, flowers are for lovers
Child wept louder said he too was a lover
Flower he wanted to present it to his Mother
Tears kept trickling , as if stump it was watering
Since then, every day child devotedly kept watering
Waiting for flower, be first one to pluck fresh flower
And present it to his dear Mother "
Deeply moved by childs love for stump,
I felt ashamed for mad urge of plucking flower
Flowers, thereafter, never plucked, left on tree to adore
Not wanting to be sinned for depriving any child's present for mother
Now all stumps attracting me first and more than flowers
( Entry for Members Contest - I fell in love with a Tree stump by Matt Caliri )
A dozen siblings we are in number.
One by one we come and go to slumber.
To hold your feasts,festivals,anniversaries,.. as a reminder;
That's why you cannot do without a calender.
Siblings we know we are to the core.
Yet we've never seen each other before.
Since the very past we've always been in groups of four;
And in some parts of our world, in two halves for a reason.
All because each of us has a favorite respective season.
To us a second is just like a cell;our basic unit of life.
When we are together, our lucky numbers are 366 or 365.
Four of us age 30; like a middle aged man.
Seven of us are older just by one.
The second of us rather the youngest,
From 28 he leaps to 29, and then reverses like a protest.
The 12th Child cannot miss Christmas.
The 4th Child cannot miss fools' day when people are spun around like discuss.
Just take a smart look at your MOUTH and then,
Summersult the middle to an N.
Yes! 12 we were and 12 we are..
For 12 shall we be fore ever..
By John Weaver
‘What right has she got to be happy?’ said a friend to me one day,
With people at war and wanting and suffering in every way.
What right has she got to be happy with taxes as high as the sky,
And with the cost of living still rising, why is she so happy, why?
What right has she got to be happy when the weather’s so miserably bleak,
When the sun shines for a day and then goes away and it’s wet for the rest of the week?
What right has she got be happy when she can’t walk or talk or see,
Why is she smiling so brightly, it’s truly a mystery to me?
‘What right have you got to be moaning;’ came my eventual reply.
You should be glad to be fit and able and grateful, not to decry
What right have you got to be moaning, just look at her and you’ll see
That the only reason she’s happy is – she’s simply decided to be.
There’s another child on the way
I’ll still be here
As I was for generations
Year after year after year
I’ve seen a revolution and a Civil war
Brother against brother and cities burned
Memories of Cassie and me on the front porch
Waiting for her soldier who never returned
Each generation had its’ own story
From heartbreak and tears to romance and love
I was sitting there through it all
Warm sunny days and nights with the stars up above
I was handed down as the torch was passed
Another child born, time moves so fast
As each generation came to be
Mother and child came to me
I was there in the sun so warm
A sense of serenity after the storm
They came to me with love and tears
Seeing many emotions throughout those years
Times have changed, progress to blame
Many things different but a few are the same
Like the seasons changing, one to another
And the bond that exists between child and mother
There’s another child on the way
I’ll still be here
As I was for generations
Year after year after year.