10 Best Famous Toddle Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Toddle poems. This is a select list of the best famous Toddle poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Toddle poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of toddle poems.

• All Famous Toddle Poems

 This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
I've been so goldarned busy living
I've never had the time to die.
So busy fishing, hunting, roving,
Up on my toes and fighting fit;
So busy singing, laughing, loving,
I've never had the time to quit.

I've never been one for thinking
I've always been the action guy;
I've done my share of feasting, drinking,
And lots of wenching on the sly.
What all the blasted cosmic show meant,
I've never tried to understand;
I've always lived just for the moment,
And done the thing that came to hand.

And now I'll toddle to the garden
And light a good old Henry Clay.
I'm ninety odd, so Lord, please pardon
My frequent lapses by the way.
I'm getting tired; the sunset lingers;
The evening star serenes the sky;
The damn cigar burns to my fingers . . .
I guess . . . I'll take . . . time off . . . to die.

 If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath 
I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, 
And speed glum heroes up the line to death. 
You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, 
Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, 
Reading the Roll of Honour. "Poor young chap," 
I'd say -- "I used to know his father well; 
Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap."
And when the war is done and youth stone dead, 
I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed.

 How often have I started out
With no thought in my noodle,
And wandered here and there about,
Where fancy bade me toddle;
Till feeling faunlike in my glee
I've voiced some gay distiches,
Returning joyfully to tea,
A poem in my britches.

A-squatting on a thymy slope
With vast of sky about me,
I've scribbled on an envelope
The rhymes the hills would shout me;
The couplets that the trees would call,
The lays the breezes proffered . . .
Oh no, I didn't think at all -
I took what Nature offered.

For that's the way you ought to write -
Without a trace of trouble;
Be super-charged with high delight
And let the words out-bubble;
Be voice of vale and wood and stream
Without design or proem:
Then rouse from out a golden dream
To find you've made a poem.

So I'll go forth with mind a blank,
And sea and sky will spell me;
And lolling on a thymy bank
I'll take down what they tell me;
As Mother Nature speaks to me
Her words I'll gaily docket,
So I'll come singing home to tea
A poem in my pocket.

 Snug at the club two fathers sat, 
Gross, goggle-eyed, and full of chat. 
One of them said: ‘My eldest lad 
Writes cheery letters from Bagdad. 
But Arthur’s getting all the fun
At Arras with his nine-inch gun.’ 

‘Yes,’ wheezed the other, ‘that’s the luck! 
My boy’s quite broken-hearted, stuck 
In England training all this year. 
Still, if there’s truth in what we hear,
The Huns intend to ask for more 
Before they bolt across the Rhine.’ 
I watched them toddle through the door— 
These impotent old friends of mine.

 MY blessings on ye, honest wife!
 I ne’er was here before;
Ye’ve wealth o’ gear for spoon and knife—
 Heart could not wish for more.
Heav’n keep you clear o’ sturt and strife,
 Till far ayont fourscore,
And while I toddle on thro’ life,
 I’ll ne’er gae by your door!