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Child Spring Poems | Spring Poems About Child

These Child Spring poems are examples of Spring poems about Child. These are the best examples of Child Spring poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Concrete |

The Four Seasons

There are four seasons in a year. Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. In the Spring time, you can enjoy the outdoors and go for a walk. And look at the trees turning beautiful colors, you can also enjoy raking the leaves into a big pile and jump into them. We also know the New Year is coming with Winter. Winter is a cold month with snow, now the children can play outside in the snow. And everyone else can enjoy the snow also.


Details | Sonnet |

Megan's Hit

        MEGAN'S HIT
There on the deck, I took a practice swing
tormented in the possiblity--
then hope was dashed--I found no hope to bring
up to the plate, when Ump cried out, "Strike 3!"
I was the last to bat--in this last game--
just oh for three, my record said it all!
And in the dugout, faces all the same,
the looks of gloom! Just waiting for my fall!
I took my place, right up there to the plate.
Out on the mound, the picher grinned at me--
as if he hoped to make my swinging late,
or throw me one--I couldn't even see!
    He'd walked a batter, waiting on first base,
    to tie the score, if we'd get in the race!

                    II.

"No girl can hit!" I heard the catcher call,
and echoed from the bleachers was the same,
we made our stands, the umpire cried "Play ball!"
and then I vowed to get us in the game!
I gripped the bat, the windup came too fast!
As did the ball, but where it should have been!
"Strike one!" the umpire yelled at last--
The fastest ball that I have ever seen!
"She'll never swing!" the catchers words for me--
then threw the ball out to the pichers hand!
While out on first, my runner waits to see
if I can swing, or only make a stand!
   Right in my face--the picher scouled a bit--
   while I choked up--and readied for a hit!
   
                   III.

All set to hit--I made it then my dream!
and came the ball--I could not swing at that!
"Strike twoooo!" the umpire made it scream,
then said to me, "You've got to swing the bat!"
The bat it weighed a hundred pounds or so;
"She'll never swing," the pichers eyes did say,
With that he gave his very best, I know!
I glued my eyes--as it screamed straight my way!
I never saw the hitting of the ball!
but won't forget the cracking sound of it!
Nor know again the feeling of it all
of this my very most important hit!
   The sound it made--that ev'ryone could hear--
   a batters dream--but pichers' greatest fear!

                   IV.

The ball soared hard and high past second base!
then seemed to drop so slowly from above,
as quick as I could get us in the race,
I watched it bounce right off the fielders glove!
The tying run was just ahead of me!
Ole "Never-Steal" now ran like not before!
And right behind, fast as my feet could be 
I gave my best! And then I gave some more!
The crowd gave out the seasons wildest plea!
As I yelled to the runner just ahead,
with all the grit that I could find in me,
"I'm going in! And if you stop--you're dead!"
   Ole "Never Steal" was giving all he could
   and on his heels--I made my promise good!

                V.

We saw the ball come by as rounding third!
Not once a hesitation in it all--
and as the umpire watched without a word--
he swept his arms, to make the tying call!
The score was tied--third baseman set to throw--
now ready at home plate, the catcher stood--
and through it all--my only thought was GO!
but if I did--I'd have to make it good!
I knew the ball was thrown down to home plate!
The catcher poised, and glued where he should be!
I had to slide, and heard the ball hit late!
"She's SAFE! She's SAFE!" my Daddy yelled to me! 
    Now layed to rest--our coaches greatest fear--
    the only game we won--throughout the year!
© ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet


Details | Ballad |

Spring Surprise

Who remembers, is it only me?
When March had drizzled, and April fooled us...
But a morning in the month of May.........

We'd spread upon a kitchen table 
Paste made of flour, scissors, borrowed
paper, crayons of rainbow colors 
Pretty paper doilies and….
Mama letting little hands
Create surprises, of cone shaped fans… 

The memory shrugs so many years 
Where innocence, was cut and shaped
Into bright-sprigged paper cones
Accomplishments, each of our own

   On May the first, a small bouquet
   We would rehearse, a verse to say
   To spread come spring, then run away



Then quickly running out the door
To pick spring beauties, one by one
Fresh Lillies of the Valley, wildwood fern, 
Gathering them, heavy on their stems
Sweet and fresh as morning dew, 
So filled with springtime, filled with bloom

Then paper cones were flower filled
Small bouquets of sweet perfume
Then down the dusty road we trudged
Side by side, with grins of pride
No greater pleasure as a child
The thought of bringing someone smiles

       On May the first, a small bouquet
       We would rehearse, a verse to say
       To spread come spring, then run away

Timid knocking on a door
 “Surprise...Surprise! Look what’s in store!”
Our little legs now running fast, 
And down the road, quite out of breath
Behind a tree, where we would hide
And watch them find this flower prize
Must not....get caught.....must not get caught!
And we were taught
That bringing gifts to make them sigh
Was worth a lot !! Was worth the thought
A thoughtful way to light their eyes

      On May the first, a small bouquet
      We would rehearse, a verse to say
      To spread come spring, then run away 




_________________________________________________________
2/19/14


Details | I do not know? |

You, Me, Us, Everyone

Flowers
Not named
Unknown to those with no curiosity
Buds, that dream of one day blooming
Being, more than they are
Flowers living
Being
Thriving
Touched by those who love
Protected by those who wish to love
Wishing to be more than they are
Buds, not truly knowing if they are ready for the world
Hoping they are strong enough 
Wishing to be the best
You, Me, Us, Everyone


Details | Rhyme |

The Child and the Flower

One shining yellow flower
       Popped up through the snow.
A daffodil--it waved its head
       The oo-ing crowd to show.
A little child saw it too;
       She wanted me to see.
"The first one is the prettiest,
       Take its picture," she said to me.

A child and a flower,
       Scarce worthy of a glance.
But God alone created both,
       The flow'r to shine, the child to dance.
I cannot help but wonder why
       We choose to be unaware;
A flower is loved as liquid gold,
       For an unborn child, none seem to care.


Details | Quatrain |

THE PURPLE SPRING CROCUS - A CHRISTMAS STORY

Early Christmas morning I glanced outside,
and no snow was falling, and suddenly a vision of a luminous light
with a trembling child appeared in sight...
and could this have been the Infant of prophecy and might?


And He softly said with the sweetest and kindest voice,
"I bring you no snow but endless love...the warmest flame
that makes every forsaken and unhappy heart rejoice;
it's a gift so gladly given to all the believers of this blessed age." 


Struck by that splendid appearance, unafraid,
I ran to thank him for those wonderful words,;
and not having seen any gift under the decorated spruce,
I seemed puzzled, but not fearful or nearly surprised.


There it stood, my gift from that generous child with golden, curly hair: 
a purple spring crocus never seen before, an Alpine flower
which grows in early April in every emerald meadow...
I leaned forward with much gentleness and plucked it from the cold snow.
 

When I stood up, he was gone and not a trace of him could be found,
and who was that cherub without wings...to leave that flower in the bitter cold? 
Wasn't He the Christ Child who was born in a Bethlehem's abandoned stable?
And wasn't hope the meaning of the purple spring crocus so beautiful?  





Details | Prose Poetry |

Daisies and the Way to Undress Summer.

“Dress me in daises,” I said, as if flowers could cover my skin in respectable ways, and
he smiled as my shoe boxes of paint tipped over, as the floor became art and the way I
walked towards him smeared my heart at his feet.


We captured laughter this way, drawing insensibilities in between us, and there was an
element of beauty in the grin of a child when it appeared to dance across his grown up
cheeks, an attraction to Peter Pan, and blond hair in the summer, as I thought I could
capture July...


The month used to sit beside my bed, fluttering night lights to save me from dreams, stars
danced in mason jars and fairytales were whispered beyond moonlight as I wrote them in my
dreams, as I watched seasons disappear into morning light.


I arrested kisses with a word and slipped them in my pockets, he commented on the rips
that always decorated the hems of my blue jeans, I played with the brown flowered
patches at me knees, I looked at him and told him my secrets, I whispered content beneath
the spring as we watched summer rise, as the sky became a canvas and I wished my hands
were more capable...


“Show me the way beyond you,” he requested, as my glance became puzzled, “Show me who you
are.”


He handed me a daisy, he told me to undress, I studied the petals as they fell to my feet,
my toes became blanketed...

and I walked towards him...


the decoration of spring mapping out my heart, and he smiled with a mouth that grinned
when he spoke my name, when he laughed in the fashion of a child and held me under
moonlight when spring faded and summer came.





Details | Free verse |

September's Child Part one

Born in Autumn, a buffer season
Not Summer with days of sun
Fields of green with life abounding
And sparkling clear springs.
Not Winter with her majestic wonderland
Of brisk cold winds which kiss the skin
Of gentle snowflakes that fall to earth
Of a blanket of snow that sheets the earth
A covering that allows all to sleep for its rebirth.
Not Spring the beginning of life anew
When snowy fields give way to green grass kissed by Morning's dew
Of promises of love, the inner mating call
Spring a season of life, the most beautiful of all.


Born in Autumn
Things die, They give way
To winds that blow decaying leaves
From once beautiful green trees
Autumn poor Autumn how it yearns to live
A season of brilliant colors
Colors that are false for they hide
The fact what Autumn colors dies.
A season where not sure
Too cold to go bare arm
Too warm to wear a coat
So sweaters were made
Not too cold, not too hot are these days.

Spring a season of love
Summer a season of fun
Winter a season of rest
But Autumn a season of labor
You must reap the harvest
You must prepare for Winter.

I fell in love with a girl of Spring
A joyful, lovely, spirited thing
Her eyes were wild
Upon her face there was a suspicious smile
She was every thing a man could want
Carefree, laughter, emotions of Joy
O' my heart did she toy
Bountiful, free yes was she
This little girl of Spring.

I am a child of September
Born in the month that begat Autumn
Withdrawn, quiet, working hard
I have a strong desire to change the world
Just as Autumn does
It breaks down Summer, forces him to yield
To give birth to Winter
That is what Autumn does
And for all it's glory-for all it's change
Winter blankets him with her snow
So the change of Autumn goes unknown
So is the life of me
Only changing the scenery temporarily.

The other seasons understand
They have their place in time
They yield their beauty grand
But Autumn yearns for it all
He wants to fight
He waves his colors boastfully
He shines with colors bright
And Winter, she only laughs
And blankets him with her snow.

I fight for beliefs I hold dear
But yet I yield them to Time.
For Time rules all the seasons supreme
Time is the Father of all things
Time tells us we must only love
Those in which seasons we can share
Autumn could have Winter which he proceeds
But Summer has Spring which he succeeds
Autumn to Winter, Summer to Spring
That is how Time made it.

       (continued September's Child Part two)







Details | Free verse |

September's Child Part two

  ( continued from September's Child Part one)

But Autumn does not love Winter
Autumn yearns for Spring
But Spring with her bubbling laughter
It is Summer she chases after
Hurt and disgusted Autumn becomes
A season of depression for his love rejected
His leaves of orange, red and gold
Turn to a decaying brown.

He tries in vain to change
To conquer Winter
Yes if this he could do
Then Spring will he be with
But Winter strong, her winds they blow
She buries him with blizzards of snow.

September's Child
A love he has lost
September's Child
Alone and tormented
Spring she will not have him
Summer shines him by
Winter she does control him
Autumn the season when love dies.

September's Child through he breathes
The breath of life
Deep inside he has died
For a love he can not have.

Came September I looked up at the trees
Red, orange , gold were her leaves
I plucked a few from her arms
And kept them in a paper sack of brown.

And I released them into the wind
That Spring.


Details | I do not know? |

Spring Fever

I feel it
The tugging in my bones
Like a young child pulling at my shirt to get attention
That gentle urge to look their way
It whispers in my ears
Left shoulder it sits 
Then right
Left right left right
Never quite in view
Tickling like a strand of hair gone awry
It slides across my fingers 
Like an itch I can't scratch
The desire to move 
When I know I should be absolutely still
I hear it 
Like a ringing in my ears
Or a fly buzzing in my ear
The humming of the lights
It calls to me
Mumbling like the dry eyes commercial guy
It longs for me 
Like a drought stricken farmer prays for rain
It commands me to dance 
Flitting like a butterfly sailing in a windstorm
It burns
Like the fever of a sleepless infant
On and on it screams at me
I am coming
Like a wild cat at midnight
It reaches out to embrace me
Like little ones safe in their mothers arms
Restlessly I wait
For spring


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