A Gift of a Kind.
I saw a man,
On a street,
He had no home,
He had bare feet.
He sat in a doorway,
On a sleeping bag,
A few possessions,
Is all he had.
He sat erect,
His eyes darting,
He’d known better times,
It was disheartening.
I thought of the many,
Who lived on the street,
The various charities,
Their needs tried to meet.
I was thankful to have,
A roof over my head,
A family who loved me,
And a warm cosy bed.
I felt very lucky,
And it came to mind,
Was a gift of a kind.
Gifts
A gift comes from one
and is given to another.
The first is life
from a father and a mother.
Then comes a book, a baby doll,
a blanket soft and warm, to hold.
A grandma’s love,
an uncle’s time
an auntie’s favourite nursery rhyme,
a friend who listens and understands –
some gifts you can’t hold in your hand.
So notice those who give around you,
the gifts from nature that surround you.
Receive with gratitude and grace
and give with love in every case.
The Gift
The Visit
Cautiously, creeping down the stairs,
carefully avoiding the creaks,
we stop
and take each other’s hand.
At the bottom we tiptoe,
trembling,
towards the door.
Almost afraid to breathe
we slowly, gently, push it open.
Beneath the twinkling lights
sit the gifts.
‘He’s been,’ we whisper
‘He’s been.’
Louis, the Giraffe
Louis looked down from the tree,
Which he had climbed in fear,
Looking at a little mouse,
Who appeared to be too near.
He hugged the tree with all his might,
Too frightened to climb down,
The mouse just calmly stayed there,
Not moving, making no sound.
The mouse looked up at the giraffe,
Who was clinging to this tree,
And asked, “What are you afraid of?
You’re four million times bigger than me.”
Louis moved a little higher,
Wishing the mouse would leave,
So that he could climb back down,
And his self-esteem retrieve.
The mouse got bored and scurried off,
Leaving the giraffe alone,
Louise quickly climbed down the tree,
And galloped all the way home.
The English language is tricky to learn
And the sound of some letters are cause for concern.
Like, how is it how has an ‘Ow’ as in owl
When the ‘Ow’ that’s in low sounds like ‘Oh’ that’s in sew?
And why does the ‘Ew’ that’s in sew sound like ‘Oh’
When the ‘Ew’ that’s in stew sound like ‘Oo’ that’s in boo?
And if you want more, well what about war
Which is ‘Aw’ but not ‘Ar’ as in car, far or jar.
What about bear, which can be rhymed with hair
But hear rhymes with beer, and pear rhymes with mare.
And don’t get me started on bough, through and rough!
How does the ‘ough’ rhyme with cow, roo and fluff?
What about beard, which is bear with a ‘D’
But heard sounds like ‘bird’ – how can that be?
So if you’re confused, there’s really no shame
When letters and sounds simply don’t stay the same.
HOPE
Hope is the tiny flame
That flickers inside us all.
The flame that burns brightest
In times of fear and defeat.
Hope is the thread
That binds our hearts and souls.
Hope can be seen in the vast ocean;
The highest mountain;
The valley green;
The flowers bursting new in spring.
Hope is inside us all;
Hope is all around us.
All we have to do is touch it
And hope will do the rest.
Louis, the Giraffe
Louis looked down from the tree,
Which he had climbed in fear,
Looking at a little mouse,
Who appeared to be too near.
He hugged the tree with all his might,
Too frightened to climb down,
The mouse just calmly stayed there,
Not moving, making no sound.
The mouse looked up at the giraffe,
Who was clinging to this tree,
And asked, “What are you afraid of?
You’re four million times bigger than me.”
Louis moved a little higher,
Wishing the mouse would leave,
So that he could climb back down,
And his self-esteem retrieve.
The mouse got bored and scurried off,
Leaving the giraffe alone,
Louise quickly climbed down the tree,
And galloped all the way home.
A group of giraffes
is called a tower.
Each day, they sleep
for less than an hour.
They’ll munch on leaves
from acacia trees,
while ear-flicking flies
in savannah’s breeze,
reaching up high
with grace and ease …
giraffes shouldn’t need
to climb those trees!
Celia Berrell
Australian Children’s Poetry 