Short Chidren Poems

Children did not ask to be born
Parents brought them in the world
They did not ask for war
But war devoured their loved ones

They roam the streets
Empty of life
Empty of future
All alone

But life marches on
Without feeling
Without tears...

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Today I’m once again thankful for children…
And how with innocence and purity they’ve been kissed
giving them the ability to see and feel things 
we adults oftentimes have missed.

Which is why we need to make an effort
as within us more and more years and information are compiled
to try to find that innocence and purity in ourselves…
and if we can’t…
to rediscover it in a child....

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Once upon a time
there was only 
You and I.
Sitting under this tree 
that was surely about 
to die.
We talked about our lives
and what we were going to see.
Even wished for the chidren
that God would hopefully bring.
Days passed by,
Years did too,
Nothing could seperate us,
We werent what they knew. 
Our World couldn't handle
it when we would kiss.
So we went into this tree,


That we would come to know

as bliss....

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You offered me your herbs and wine
that you never did before
you raised and nutured them
as if they were chidren
lest they grow wild
 or bitter on the vine

But this is a special time for you
you see things in a different light
you're  releasing restraints 
that you held tight
you created an extention
from yours to mine
when you offered me your herbs and wine

For my Campari , Tony Siligato
September 6, 2002
©Ralph Sergi...

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The leaves begin to change their hue and fall,
The tree's look like skeletons all spindly and tall.

We run through the piled leaves, kicking them up like a cloud,
The chidren all excited yelling out so loud.

The ancient gnarly oak looks as if it only has one leaf left,
All solitary and lonely looking all bereft.

Then the softest gust of breeze finally brings it fluttering down,
The tree is finally naked without it's green leafy gown....

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The Red Barn

The red barn stands, silhouetted against the sky.
The oak tree wraps its tired limbs about her
As if to protect her from time and age.
Her roof is sagging, color faded ,
An errant plume of color along her frame.
Yet, proud she stands, remembrance of a happy time.
Shelter from the rain, chidren
Playing in her hair, lovers hiding in her shadows.
Beauty I see now, not bright, not boastful.
With dignity and respect she bows to age....

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