3 result(s) for Young Daughter Poems.
These poems are completely original - not copied from anywhere. Feel free to use them however you want.
Muddy Boots by the Door
Two small boots stand kneeling in the hall,
still caked with the creek's brown, generous mud,
the laces loose, as if they heard a call
to run back out before the spring turned to flood.
The front door hangs wide, the April air
slips in to meet the scent of toast and tea,
and somewhere past the hedge, a wild, bright flare
of laughter tumbles back to find me.
She left them there in such a hurry, sure
that dragons guard the garden and the gate,
and every puddle is a moat to cure
her fear of being still, of being late.
I'll leave them where they are a little while,
those boots that carry half the orchard's dirt,
because one day the house will fall in silence, still,
and I will miss the mess, the mud, the hurt.
Whispers Before Sleep
The lamp is dimmed, the hallway hushed,
and you tuck your toy beneath your chin.
I pull the quilt up, soft and warm,
and promise tales to let you in.
Once there was a moon who lingered low,
to keep the little stars awake,
and every night she hummed a song
so sleepy eyes would never break.
Your breath grows slow, your lashes fall,
the dark is kind, the dreams are near.
I whisper on, though you can't hear,
the love I keep for you right here.
Goodnight, my girl, the stories end,
but all the dreams you'll find tonight
are threads of silver, spun by stars,
to guard your sleep till morning light.
Questions from Dawn to Dusk
She wakes with a question still warm on her lips,
Why does the sun climb up so slow?
She asks the window, asks the bread,
Asks the cat asleep on the hall rug.
At noon she wonders where the shadows go,
Why the clouds are shaped like sleeping sheep,
Why the river hums a song she cannot keep,
Why her hands grow sticky with the plum.
By afternoon her questions grow like vines,
How far is the edge of the hill?
Why do the birds forget their names?
Does the moon know when it's time to rise?
At dusk she rests her head upon my knee,
And asks the stars, one by one,
Why they blink so far from home,
And whether I will answer all of them tomorrow.
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