Nature Poems For Kids – 80 Poems For Children About Nature

Whether you grew up in a suburb, on a farm, or in a big city, you probably spent a lot of time playing outside, getting dirty, and coming home happy. Maybe you watched ants making anthills in your backyard, climbed trees in the park, or simply lay in the grass contemplating the drifting clouds. Unfortunately, young children today do not have as many direct experiences with nature, and it’s taking a toll. Today the amount of time kids spend outside is alarmingly low—only minutes per day—while screen time is at an all-time high.

Research suggests that a connection to nature is biologically innate; as humans, we have an affinity for the natural world. When children spend most of their time indoors, they miss out. Kids who have direct access to nature are better learners. Exposure to nature has been shown to reduce stress and increase attention spans, which is a perfect place for kids to learn. A child can learn more in an open environment as compared to classroom teaching because the natural world is a giant, open-ended learning laboratory and children are innate scientists.

Today, ample research has shown that nature exposure has numerous long-term benefits. Children of all ages must learn to push their physical limits and explore emotional boundaries. Children need to explore, take risks, question, experiment, discover, sing, dance, and imagine. How high can I climb? Do I dare jump further than I ever have before? What happens when I skip a rock in the pond? The benefits of nature create a beautiful backdrop for exploring oneself. These activities abound in the outdoors and are some of the many benefits of nature.

The best thing you can do is to be enthusiastic about nature yourself. Let your kids get down in the dirt so they can see at eye level the whole universe there. Nature is good for everyone’s mental health. Nature isn’t the problem; it’s the solution. We are bound to modern life and smartphones, but that is not what a child needs. Here, we have collected the best nature poems for kids that are very interesting and popular – 80 beautiful poems for children about nature. If this is what you are looking for, hope you have beautiful moments on OZoFe.Com. Enjoy it!

1, The Moon © Robert Louis Stevenson

The moon has a face like the clock in the hall;
She shines on thieves on the garden wall,
On streets and fields and harbour quays,
And birdies asleep in the forks of the trees.

The squalling cat and the squeaking mouse,
The howling dog by the door of the house,
The bat that lies in bed at noon,
All love to be out by the light of the moon.

But all of the things that belong to the day
Cuddle to sleep to be out of her way;
And flowers and children close their eyes
Till up in the morning the sun shall arise.

2, The Rainbow © Christina Rossetti

Boats sail on the rivers,
And ships sail on the seas;
But clouds that sail across the sky
Are prettier than these.
There are bridges on the rivers,
As pretty as you please;
But the bow that bridges heaven,
And overtops the trees,
And builds a road from earth to sky,
Is prettier far than these.

3, I Remember, I Remember © Thomas Hood

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily cups—
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday,—
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember
Where I was used to swing,
And thought the air must rush as fresh
To swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers then
That is so heavy now,
The summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir-trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now ’tis little joy
To know I’m farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.

4, Come, Little Leaves © George Cooper

“Come, little leaves,” said the wind one day,
“Come o’er the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold,
For summer is gone and the days grow cold.”

Soon as the leaves heard the wind’s loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
singing the glad little songs they knew.

“Cricket, goodbye, we’ve been friends so long;
Little brook, sing us your farewell song;
Say you are sorry to see us go;
Ah, you will miss us, right well we know.

“Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
fondly we watched you in vale and glade;
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?”

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went;
Winter had called them, and they were content;
soon, fast asleep in their earthy beds,
The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.

5, Song: “When We Came Home Across The Hill” © T. S. Eliot

When we came home across the hill
No leaves were fallen from the trees;
The gentle fingers of the breeze
Had torn no quivering cobweb down.

The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,
No withered petals lay beneath;
But the wild roses in your wreath
Were faded, and the leaves were brown.

6, All That’s Past © Walter de la Mare

Very old are the woods;
And the buds that break
Out of the brier’s boughs,
When March winds wake,
So old with their beauty are—
Oh, no man knows
Through what wild centuries
Roves back the rose.
Very old are the brooks;
And the rills that rise
Where snow sleeps cold beneath
The azure skies
Sing such a history
Of come and gone,
Their every drop is as wise
As Solomon.

Very old are we men;
Our dreams are tales
Told in dim Eden
By Eve’s nightingales;
We wake and whisper awhile,
But, the day gone by,
Silence and sleep like fields
Of amaranth lie.

7, Friends © Abbie Farwell Brown

How good to lie a little while
And look up through the tree!
The Sky is like a kind big smile
Bent sweetly over me.

The Sunshine flickers through the lace
Of leaves above my head,
And kisses me upon the face
Like Mother, before bed.

The Wind comes stealing o’er the grass
To whisper pretty things;
And though I cannot see him pass,
I feel his careful wings.

So many gentle Friends are near
Whom one can scarcely see,
A child should never feel a fear,
Wherever he may be.

8, Song: “If Time And Space, As Sages Say” © T. S. Eliot

If Time and Space, as sages say,
Are things which cannot be,
The sun which does not feel decay
No greater is then we.
So why, Love, should we ever pray
to live a century?
The butterfly that lives a day
Has lived eternity.

The flowers I gave thee when the dew
Was trembling on the vine,
Were withered ere the wild bee flew
To suck the eglentine.
So let us haste to pluck anew
Nor mourn to see them pine,
And though our days of love be few
Yet let them be divine.

If Space and Time, as sages say,
Are things which cannot be,
The fly that lives a single day
Has lived as long as we.
But let us live while yet we may,
While love and life are free,
For time is time, and runs away,
Though sages disagree.

9, The Caterpillar © Christina Rossetti

Brown and furry
Caterpillar in a hurry;
Take your walk
To the shady leaf or stalk.

May no toad spy you,
May the little birds pass by you;
Spin and die,
To live again a butterfly.

10, The Swing © Robert Louis Stevenson

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside—

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown—
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

11, My Garden © George Cooper

When fields are green, and skies are fair,
And summer fragrance fills the air,
I love to watch the budding rose
That in my pleasant garden grows;
But when old Winter, fierce and free,
Has hushed the murmur of the bee,
And all the fields and hills are hid
Beneath his snowy coverlid,
Oh! then my only garden-spot
Is just this little flower-pot.

12, Let’s Preserve Our Nature © Arjun

The sun is shining,
The sky is blue,
The birds are flying,
And the breeze is so cool.

Mother Nature is trying her best
To give nothing but beautifulness,
But what do we do?
Make her a mess.

Let’s make her the best
By polluting less and less,
And preserve her green dress
For our kids and the rest.

13, Before Quiet © Hazel Hall

I will think of water-lilies
Growing in a darkened pool,
And my breath shall move like water,
And my hands be limp and cool.

It shall be as though I waited
In a wooden place alone;
I will learn the peace of lilies
And will take it for my own.

If a twinge of thought, if yearning
Come like wind into this place,
I will bear it like the shadow
Of a leaf across my face.

14, The Pasture © Robert Frost

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan’t be gone long. — You come too.

I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long. — You come too.

15, And Now It’s Spring © Lhtheaker

The grass is green across the hill,
But yellow blooms the daffodil.
It’s sunshine on a little stalk,
A friendly flower, I bet they talk…

Of little kids, too long inside
They burst outdoors to play and hide.
Tracking mud and bringing bugs.
Look, there’s footprints on the rug!

Tiny whirlwinds, these little tykes,
They skin their knees while riding bikes.
They rip and roar, they’re running wild!
What fun it is to be a child.

It grows warmer every day.
Shoo the children out to play!
Pick the flowers, play in mud.
Too much rain, here comes a flood!

My snowy, winter days are gone.
I mourn them, but I hear a song
Of birds in trees; wind chimes ring.
I guess it might as well be spring!

16, What Is Pink? © Christina Rossetti

What is pink? A rose is pink
By the fountain’s brink.
What is red? A poppy’s red
In its barley bed.
What is blue? The sky is blue
Where the clouds float through.
What is white? A swan is white
Sailing in the light.
What is yellow? Pears are yellow,
Rich and ripe and mellow.
What is green? The grass is green,
With small flowers between.
What is violet? Clouds are violet
In the summer twilight.
What is orange? Why, an orange,
Just an orange!

17, Peace And Quiet © Nadya Phillips

Peace is…
When you are outside on a nice warm day
With a cold glass of yellow lemonade.
Slurp, slurp, slurp.
Feeling the warm sun on my back,
Rubbing my hands through the wet green grass,
Listening to the birds singing a distance away.
Quiet…
Now that’s PEACE!

18, Sea Violet © H.D. (Hilda Doolittle)

The white violet
is scented on its stalk,
the sea-violet
fragile as agate,
lies fronting all the wind
among the torn shells
on the sand-bank.

The greater blue violets
flutter on the hill,
but who would change for these
who would change for these
one root of the white sort?

Violet
your grasp is frail
on the edge of the sand-hill,
but you catch the light—
frost, a star edges with its fire.

19, Beach © Clara Nanez

I was sitting on the sand
Watching the clouds pass by
When I saw in the sky a lion and a bear.
I said oh my!
I look on my left ,
I see a white dove fly so high
I started to cry.
I said to myself I must be crazy.
There is no bear or lion in the sky
Maybe a dove and some water below
And other things that we don’t know.

20, The Fisherman © Abbie Farwell Brown

The fisherman goes out at dawn
When every one’s abed,
And from the bottom of the sea
Draws up his daily bread.

His life is strange ; half on the shore
And half upon the sea —
Not quite a fish, and yet not quite
The same as you and me.

The fisherman has curious eyes ;
They make you feel so queer,
As if they had seen many things
Of wonder and of fear.

They’re like the sea on foggy days, —
Not gray, nor yet quite blue ;
They ‘re like the wondrous tales he tells
Not quite — yet maybe — true.

He knows so much of boats and tides,
Of winds and clouds and sky !
But when I tell of city things,
He sniffs and shuts one eye !

21, Bed In Summer © Robert Louis Stevenson

In Winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle light.
In Summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

22, Hello, Spring! © Sal

The cold winter has passed, and now comes spring.
The newly hatched baby birds will cause the mother birds to sing.

The warm sun comes out, little cherry blossoms are in bloom.
Beautiful roses will open up and smell of sweet perfume.

The wind’s soft breeze passes through the tall trees.
There will be plenty of work for the busy honey bees.

From flower to flower, they fly and buzz all day.
Spring is that magical time during March, April, and May.

23, Pursuit © Elizabeth Bradfield

All summer, town kids pose at the edge
of the pier named after you

and leap. I’ve just flown home from Baffin,
Mac. A month of spotting polar bears,

lecturing on tundra as raw wind shrugged us off,
then winter chased us down the coast.

But it’s still season here, and so I’m at the gangway
loading a boat to look for whales.

Boys dash between pickups. Girls strut
the edge, do the same. No one throws coins for them,

but I know you jumped for the bright glint
tourists threw, and (I’m sure) for the thrill

of being watched do it. These kids leap
to break the hot September days and because tonight

they might find themselves midair, recorded
by some out-of-towner’s gadget and posted online

for view-count and comment, their currency. Would I
have strutted, have jumped at their age, yours then? I can’t decide.

At high tide, their knees are eye level from my place
on the finger pier. One girl wears a silver bikini.

It shines like ice on the horizon. I can’t help but stare.
Suddenly, I see it is desire

that links us, that galvanizes
the thin substance of our ambitions.

24, Follow The Moon © Marie Tully

I followed the moon,
Or did it follow me?
I turned a corner;
It was still there, you see.

I tried to trick it.
In the shadows I hid,
But the moon kept on watching.
That’s what it did.

A cloud passed before it.
Now was my chance,
But the stars in the sky
Never could lie.

I walked on through the night.
The moon followed me home,
Or did I follow the moon?
I don’t quite know.

25, Patience Taught By Nature © Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“O Dreary life!” we cry, “O dreary life!”
And still the generations of the birds
Sing through our sighing, and the flocks and herds
Serenely live while we are keeping strife
With Heaven’s true purpose in us, as a knife
Against which we may struggle. Ocean girds
Unslackened the dry land: savannah-swards
Unweary sweep: hills watch, unworn; and rife
Meek leaves drop yearly from the forest-trees,
To show, above, the unwasted stars that pass
In their old glory. O thou God of old!
Grant me some smaller grace than comes to these;—
But so much patience, as a blade of grass
Grows by contented through the heat and cold.

26, Spring © Martin Taylor

One of four siblings,
the youngest of course.
Or am I the oldest?
Not really sure.

I bring new life
and herald the warmth,
but hay fever, too,
is in my source.

Autumn has color
but tinged with decay.
Some call her Fall.
I think she’s OK.

Not like my bother,
cold in his breath.
Winter his name,
in darkness brings death.

Summer’s the one
that gets all the glory,
but brush fires and sunburn
are in her story.

So, season of choice,
who will win?
The one with potential,
of course; it’s Spring.

27, Untitled © Paul Carroll

I want to write a poem the birds will understand
and the snakes and stones
the trees with their
secrets and green faces
Let it enchant the dolphins and the whales
when they are courting in the middle of the ocean
Let it talk with the aborigine
who knows the moon’s a person in the sky
And should it be the last poem in the world
let it be among the first in worlds we’ve never
seen where it may talk to rivers
there and animals we’ve only
seen in dreams Let it walk
around in rooms where
God’s footprints have remained behind
Let it be something I’ve been unable to imagine here
There’ll be fish there I may be riding on the
back of one today
Will the poem be about the cheetahs and the wind
we only see when we’re in love?

28, The Red And White Striped Lighthouse © Ebvor

The red and white striped lighthouse,
Standing by the sea,
As quiet as a mouse,
Telling boats where it be.

Against the rocks a wave crashes.
The lighthouse just stares on.
Suddenly some lightning flashes,
But he’s gonna stare till dawn.

The red and white striped lighthouse,
Standing by the sea,
As quiet as a mouse,
Telling boats where it be.

He shines his light through the thick fog,
As rain darkens the sands.
He shines his light through all the smog.
On the rocks he proudly stands.

The red and white striped lighthouse,
Standing by the sea,
As quiet as a mouse,
Telling boats where it be.

The rising sun makes the ocean glisten bright.
A couple comes out to see the astonishing sight.
There is no need to shine, for it’s no longer night,
And the lighthouse slowly fades out its light.

29, By The Stream © Paul Laurence Dunbar

By the stream I dream in calm delight, and watch as in a glass,
How the clouds like crowds of snowy-hued and white-robed maidens pass,
And the water into ripples breaks and sparkles as it spreads,
Like a host of armored knights with silver helmets on their heads.
And I deem the stream an emblem fit of human life may go,
For I find a mind may sparkle much and yet but shallows show,
And a soul may glow with myriad lights and wondrous mysteries,
When it only lies a dormant thing and mirrors what it sees.

30, Snow Day © Sam D

Snow is falling to the ground,
Piling up in enormous mounds.
School is canceled for the day.
Children run outside to play.

Snowballs are thrown in the air.
No one has any care
About school – only fun,
Because the day is a snowy one.

Snowmen are stacked very high;
Their top hats almost skim the sky.
To make them round, they must pat,
Then finish off with mittens and hat.

As the weather gets cold,
The children are told
To come inside and eat –
Enjoy hot chocolate with a couple treats.

Once the kids are done,
They put on their gear for some more fun.
Some of them play around,
While other kids just lay on the ground.

Another kid makes snow angels
Until the dog named Bojangles
Runs through his masterpiece,
But then the owner yells cease.

After Bojangles
Ruins all the snow angels,
Kids slide down the hill
‘Til they are bitten by a chill.

Almost over is the day.
The children start to walk away.
As snow falls, so does the sun.
Time to go in; the day is done.

31, Putting In The Seed © Robert Frost

You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree.
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;)
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.

32, Winter Morning Poem © Ogden Nash

Winter is the king of showmen,
Turning tree stumps into snow men
And houses into birthday cakes
And spreading sugar over lakes.
Smooth and clean and frosty white,
The world looks good enough to bite.
That’s the season to be young,
Catching snowflakes on your tongue!
Snow is snowy when it’s snowing.
I’m sorry it’s slushy when it’s going.

33, Cool Summer © Suhaani C. Malik

Here it comes,
Ready or not.
Summer’s coming,
And it’s going to be hot!

Summer is the time
Just to be free.
Run in the parks
With unbearable glee.

Roll on the grass,
Climb up the trees.
Make shapes from the clouds
While enjoying juicy berries!

Rest on the mat,
Or jump in the pool.
Have ice cream or juice
‘Cause you gotta keep cool.

Chill by the shore,
Or sunbathe on the sand.
Have a dip in the sea
Or relax and get tanned.

Switch on the A.C.,
And, oh, switch on the fan.
Breathe in the cool air,
And have a drink from a can.

Summer is a time
Of all the joy and play.
But can you believe,
It’s not around to stay.

At night we look into the sky.
Summer will be gone with all its bloom,
And in a blink of eye,
Winter will be here soon!

34, Maggie And Milly And Molly And May © E.E. Cummings

maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea

35, The Robin And The Crow © Kathy J Parenteau

A robin and a crow were perched upon a fence,
an unlikely combination, but they seemed to be good friends.
Standing in the mid-day sun each on a separate picket,
basking in its rays while staring at a cricket.
The crow looked very hungry, the robin seemed content,
so he flapped his shiny wings and to the ground he went.
The cricket saw him coming and jumped away in a flash,
searching for some camouflage in an open field of grass.
The crow was disappointed to get outsmarted once again,
so he flew back to his perch and asked his feathered friend,
“Have you had your dinner, tell me would you mind?
I wondered if you’d share with me, could you be so kind?”
The robin fanned his wings and said, “Come, follow me.”
To his nest they flew at the top of an old oak tree.
Together they shared a feast the robin caught that day,
then they fell asleep passing the time away.
There’s a lesson to be learned from the robin and the crow,
and carry this knowledge with you wherever you may go.
Friendship is a special thing; it’s always nice to share.
It shows the good inside of you so people know you care.

36, Remember © Joy Harjo

Remember the sky that you were born under,
know each of the star’s stories.
Remember the moon, know who she is.
Remember the sun’s birth at dawn, that is the
strongest point of time. Remember sundown
and the giving away to night.
Remember your birth, how your mother struggled
to give you form and breath. You are evidence of
her life, and her mother’s, and hers.
Remember your father. He is your life, also.
Remember the earth whose skin you are:
red earth, black earth, yellow earth, white earth
brown earth, we are earth.
Remember the plants, trees, animal life who all have their
tribes, their families, their histories, too. Talk to them,
listen to them. They are alive poems.
Remember the wind. Remember her voice. She knows the
origin of this universe.
Remember you are all people and all people
are you.
Remember you are this universe and this
universe is you.
Remember all is in motion, is growing, is you.
Remember language comes from this.
Remember the dance language is, that life is.
Remember.

37, My Way To Relax © Justyce M. Ryder

The birds sing,
Bugs cling,
Butterflies flutter,
Water drips from a gutter.

A beautiful day,
Here I stay,
Bathing in the sun,
I start to hum.

Making a song
With spring,
The grass clings
To me.

I stand up,
Brush myself off
And cough.
My eyes caught the beauty of spring.

38, Binsey Poplars © Gerard Manley Hopkins

My aspens dear, whose airy cages quelled,
Quelled or quenched in leaves the leaping sun,
All felled, felled, are all felled;
Of a fresh and following folded rank
Not spared, not one
That dandled a sandalled
Shadow that swam or sank
On meadow & river & wind-wandering weed-winding bank.

O if we but knew what we do
When we delve or hew —
Hack and rack the growing green!
Since country is so tender
To touch, her being só slender,
That, like this sleek and seeing ball
But a prick will make no eye at all,
Where we, even where we mean
To mend her we end her,
When we hew or delve:
After-comers cannot guess the beauty been.
Ten or twelve, only ten or twelve
Strokes of havoc unselve
The sweet especial scene,
Rural scene, a rural scene,
Sweet especial rural scene.

39, Mountains © Riya Shrivastava

Emerges above the land into their peak.
It is the sky they constantly seek.

From the far distance, we won’t notice their height.
A view from the top is a spectacular sight.

Closely positioned to form a range.
Human eyes won’t notice the change.

Not a prisoner to the immediate time,
Challenges many, unforgiving climb.

So much more beyond their beauty.
Sheltering species, that’s their duty.

Mountains are members of the nature we know,
And at the top they often have snow.

40, A Bird Came Down The Walk © Emily Dickinson

A Bird, came down the Walk —
He did not know I saw —
He bit an Angle Worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then, he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass —
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass —

He glanced with rapid eyes,
That hurried all abroad —
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,
He stirred his Velvet Head. —

Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers,
And rowed him softer Home —

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.

41, Hey, Little Bug! © Tai-Shona Britto

Hey, little stick bug
Clinging to a stem.
Where did you come from?
How did you land?

Hey, little lady bug
Sitting on my nose.
How did you get your wings,
Red as a rose?

Hey, little bumble bee.
Why is your bum so pointy?
Please don’t sting me.

Hey, little marching ants.
Where are you going?
He, he, he, on my pants,
So tickly.

Hey, little butterfly
Soaring through the sky.
Would you land on my finger
And say hi and bye?

Hey, little spider
Spinning your web.
Do you come out to play
When we all go to bed?

Hey, little lightning bug
Flying through the night.
Be my guide
So I can follow your light.

Hey, little beetle.
Why do you creak
On my windowsill
While I’m trying to sleep?

Mama, Mama, come and see
All the little bugs
Playing with me.

42, Deep In The Quiet Wood © James Weldon Johnson

Are you bowed down in heart?
Do you but hear the clashing discords and the din of life?
Then come away, come to the peaceful wood,
Here bathe your soul in silence. Listen! Now,
From out the palpitating solitude
Do you not catch, yet faint, elusive strains?
They are above, around, within you, everywhere.
Silently listen! Clear, and still more clear, they come.
They bubble up in rippling notes, and swell in singing tones.
Not let your soul run the whole gamut of the wondrous scale
Until, responsive to the tonic chord,
It touches the diapason of God’s grand cathedral organ,
Filling earth for you with heavenly peace
And holy harmonies.

43, A Lifelong Companion © Joydip

Have you ever chased the setting sun,
just to have fun?

Have you ever gazed at moon and stared,
simply to admire?

Have you ever looked at canopy of leaves,
imagining them as sieves?

Have you ever noticed how the rain
glistens the golden grain?

Have you ever sung to a flower,
forgetting the passing hour?

Have you ever searched nature
for a hidden treasure?

Let’s make environment a lifelong companion –
Like a true friend, it will never abandon.

44, On the Grasshopper and Cricket © John Keats

The poetry of earth is never dead:
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he takes the lead
In summer luxury,—he has never done
With his delights; for when tired out with fun
He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
On a lone winter evening, when the frost
Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
The Cricket’s song, in warmth increasing ever,
And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
The Grasshopper’s among some grassy hills.

45, Trees © Joyce Kilmer

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

46, Our Special Planets © Anthony M. Docherty

Across the night sky, way up high,
Burning like an oven but as small as a fly,
Mercury steals Apollo’s light,
But only when it is at night.

Venus, as beautiful as a flower,
Heart made of power.
She’s made of lots of love,
Just like a white dove.

Next one to Venus is Earth,
Where everyone has their birth.
Earth is such a wonderful place.
They even have a NASA base.

Mars, Mars God of War,
Even though he is very poor.
Robbed by Mercury God of messaging,
But the red planet’s still there threatening.

Jupiter, big bright bully of the sky,
This huge planet is a real tough guy.
All of the planets put together,
Not even half this planet’s measure.

Saturn, Saturn rings right here,
The floating outside my atmosphere.
Rocks and ice spinning ’round and ’round.
If you get close, you’ll hear a crashing sound.

Uranus, Uranus spins on its side,
25,362 kilometers wide.
On this giant ball of ice,
It would take 168 years to orbit the sun twice.

Neptune, Neptune the most distant planet from the sun.
If you were born there it would be no fun.
165 years until a birthday.
That would be a very long way away.

47, At The Zoo © William Makepeace Thackeray

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys—mercy, how unpleasantly they smelt!

48, Splishy, Sploshy Mud © Ava F. Kent

Splishy, sploshy mud
is the best type of crud!
You can make pies,
you can make mountains,
you can make giant skies,
just with splishy, sploshy mud!

49, Blackberry Eating © Galway Kinnell

I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry — eating in late September.

50, Who Has Seen The Wind? © Mike Brown

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
You see now, it’s invisible
to the naked eye.

Who has seen the wind?
It hides but shows it’s there.
Seek guidance from the sky,
and watch the clouds pass by.

Take a look up at the tree tops
and see the leaves, they flow.
Look down at the grass blades,
and watch them as they go.

Who has seen the wind?
I feel it on my face.
It blows around and sometimes
leaves a messy trace.

Who has seen the wind?
What of it lies within?
Who can show that it is there?
Just look around; it proves it’s there.

51, The Métier Of Blossoming © Denise Levertov

Fully occupied with growing—that’s
the amaryllis. Growing especially
at night: it would take
only a bit more patience than I’ve got
to sit keeping watch with it till daylight;
the naked eye could register every hour’s
increase in height. Like a child against a barn door,
proudly topping each year’s achievement,
steadily up
goes each green stem, smooth, matte,
traces of reddish purple at the base, and almost
imperceptible vertical ridges
running the length of them:
Two robust stems from each bulb,
sometimes with sturdy leaves for company,
elegant sweeps of blade with rounded points.
Aloft, the gravid buds, shiny with fullness.

One morning—and so soon!—the first flower
has opened when you wake. Or you catch it poised
in a single, brief
moment of hesitation.
Next day, another,
shy at first like a foal,
even a third, a fourth,
carried triumphantly at the summit
of those strong columns, and each
a Juno, calm in brilliance,
a maiden giantess in modest splendor.
If humans could be
that intensely whole, undistracted, unhurried,
swift from sheer
unswerving impetus! If we could blossom
out of ourselves, giving
nothing imperfect, withholding nothing!

52, Winter © Olivia Kooker

If winter were a person, she would be a girl with frosty hair.
Winter would wear snow pants, snow boots, gloves, a hat, and scarf.
Winter would smell like hot chocolate and peanut butter and Hershey Kiss cookies baking in the oven.
Winter would spend the day eating cookies and drinking hot cocoa by a lake.
Winter would spend the night by sitting in the snow waiting for morning so children could come out to play.

53, Cloud © Tannu Taneja

Clouds
I wish I was a cloud
I could scream so loud
Every day I would be of different shape
once a greedy fox, then a sour grape
sprinkling water would be so much fun
scolding, yelling there would be none
playing with stars and moon
hiding the sun at noon
I wish I was a cloud
Blue sky all around

54, Swan’s Elegy © Jaime Manrique

Lounging in a beach chair
I am moved by the meekness of the ocean,
the distances it has traveled
to unfold in frothing ringlets by my feet.
At high tide, rippling iridescent serpents
form under the aquamarine skin.
The sky is a luminous scarlet arch;
the spring sunset, a perfect cliché.
In the warm glow of the setting sun,
the images are serene, gentle, stripped of all haste—
the hush of this supple silence
makes me close my eyes,
and the old white swan
I saw yesterday in the twilight appears.
I see it crane its neck toward the sky
opening its beak ever so briefly
to puncture my heart
with its desolate song.
In the gathering darkness
I hear the desperate fanning of its ruffled feathers
as it sails toward the magenta shroud of its fate.

55, Ode To A Zebra © Robynne Meulemans

I’m a stunning display of black and white.
Contrasting stripes to captivate sight.

My mane stands up straight and proud.
Every visual detail about me is loud.

Black with white stripes is what they say.
This matters not, I’m beautiful either way.

Never domesticated, no not me.
I’m a zebra and I need to roam free.

56, I Have This Way of Being © Jamaal May

I have this, and this isn’t a mouth
full of the names of odd flowers

I’ve grown in secret.
I know none of these by name

but have this garden now,
and pastel somethings bloom

near the others and others.
I have this trowel, these overalls,

this ridiculous hat now.
This isn’t a lung full of air.

Not a fist full of weeds that rise
yellow then white then windswept.

This is little more than a way
to kneel and fill gloves with sweat,

so that the trowel in my hand
will have something to push against,

rather, something to push
against that it knows will bend

and give and return as sprout
and petal and sepal and bloom.

57, Oh! It Was The Wind © Dhana May C. Baysa

I felt a strong air on my hair
Oh! It was the wind.
Side by side, the leaves sway and sway.
Yesterday was a windy day!

I felt a strong breeze on my knees
Oh! It was the wind!
It blew harder and harder as it can,
Until the heat of the sun was gone!

The kids that play on the ground
Come running and stepping with sound.
The kites that fly so high
Made the children laugh and sigh!

I felt a strong air on my hair,
I felt a strong breeze on my knees
And then I realized,
Oh! It was the wind!

58, I Hear You Call, Pine Tree © Yone Noguchi

I hear you call, pine tree, I hear you upon the hill, by the silent pond
where the lotus flowers bloom, I hear you call, pine tree.
What is it you call, pine tree, when the rain falls, when the winds
blow, and when the stars appear, what is it you call, pine tree?
I hear you call, pine tree, but I am blind, and do not know how to
reach you, pine tree. Who will take me to you, pine tree?

59, I Hate Spiders © Natalia Sadowski

Spiders, spiders make me frown,
spiders, spiders hang upside down.
Spiders, spiders they make me twitch,
spiders, spiders they can be the pet of a witch.

Spiders, spiders crawl up, down, and around
spiders, spiders crawl to the ground.
Spiders, spiders oh, I hate them so much,
spiders, spiders they make me want to jump.

Even though these creatures are so mysterious,
I find there silky webs beautifully mysterious.
As each raindrop falls on, line by line,
there silky webs look more sublime.

Now, I know I said I hate spiders,
but their webs give me amazing wonders.
After each rainfall their webs look more magnificent,
you know, this weather isn’t so bad at all, it’s brilliant!

60, Some Effects of Global Warming in Lackawanna County © Jay Parini

The maples sweat now, out of season.
Buds pop eyes in wintry bushes
as the birds arrive, not having checked
the calendars or clocks. They scramble
in the frost for seeds, while underground
a sobbing starts in roots and tubers.
Ice cracks easily along the bank.
It slides in gullies where a bear, still groggy,
steps through coiled wire of the weeds.
Kids in T-shirts run to school, unaware
that summer is a long way off.
Their teachers flirt with off-the-wall assignments,
drum their fingers on the sweaty desktops.
As for me, my heart leaps high—
a deer escaping from the crosshairs,
skipping over barely frozen water
as the surface bends and splinters underfoot.

61, Winter, Winter © I. Mignosa

Winter, Winter,
can you see?
You mean a whole
lot to me!

Winter, Winter,
do you know
I love the fluffy
pure white snow?

Winter, Winter,
you’re turning snow into ice.
Winter, Winter,
that’s not very nice!

Winter, Winter,
you’re a big show.
We make snow people
’til it’s time to go!

Winter, Winter,
there are angels on the ground.
Winter, Winter,
they’re all around!

Winter, Winter
it’s Christmas Eve.
Winter, look
at our beautiful trees!

Winter, Winter,
make it snow
So that Santa
can come and go!

Winter, Winter,
come right up!
Come have some hot cocoa
in a cup!

Winter, Winter,
don’t go away.
I really, really
want you to stay!

Winter, Winter,
I know you must go,
but before you do,
make one last snow!

62, The Shapes Of Leaves © Arthur Sze

Ginkgo, cottonwood, pin oak, sweet gum, tulip tree:
our emotions resemble leaves and alive
to their shapes we are nourished.

Have you felt the expanse and contours of grief
along the edges of a big Norway maple?
Have you winced at the orange flare

searing the curves of a curling dogwood?
I have seen from the air logged islands,
each with a network of branching gravel roads,

and felt a moment of pure anger, aspen gold.
I have seen sandhill cranes moving in an open field,
a single white whooping crane in the flock.

And I have traveled along the contours
of leaves that have no name. Here
where the air is wet and the light is cool,

I feel what others are thinking and do not speak,
I know pleasure in the veins of a sugar maple,
I am living at the edge of a new leaf.

63, Light At Night © Mohammad Malik

I walk around the streets at night.
I look around and see the light,
The light that gives me hope
To find my way back home.

I walk under the moonlight
That shines out of the light.
I was surrounded by the mysterious dark
And couldn’t hear the dogs bark.

I follow the moonlight
That shines bright,
The light that gives me hope
To find my way back home.

64, Unpacking a Globe © Arthur Sze

I gaze at the Pacific and don’t expect
to ever see the heads on Easter Island,

though I guess at sunlight rippling
the yellow grasses sloping to shore;

yesterday a doe ate grass in the orchard:
it lifted its ears and stopped eating

when it sensed us watching from
a glass hallway—in his sleep, a veteran

sweats, defusing a land mine.
On the globe, I mark the Battle of

the Coral Sea—no one frets at that now.
A poem can never be too dark,

I nod and, staring at the Kenai, hear
ice breaking up along an inlet;

yesterday a coyote trotted across
my headlights and turned his head

but didn’t break stride; that’s how
I want to live on this planet:

alive to a rabbit at a glass door—
and flower where there is no flower.

65, The Magic In The Moment © Danielle Spencer

The wind began to blow
And shook the trees
Heads turned up in unison
Witnessing a season of change

The leaves were freed from their branches
Floating and swinging through the air
Painting the sky with golden colors
Dancing their way to the ground

The wind blew again
And the trees shook
Whispers in the wind:
“It’s good luck to catch a leaf!”

Searching and turning
Arms opening wide
Hands held high
Watching the leaves dance in the sky

They swirled, turned and swept me
Off my feet
Dodging and scooping
The magic in the moment

66, The Day The Snow Finally Came © Kathleen E. Sorensen

“It’s the middle of winter,” they would say,
But I just stared in dismay.
“How could it be winter without a blanket of snow?”
They said, “We do not know.”

I waited hours, I waited weeks,
Yet you could still see those mountain peaks.
“The snow will not come this year,” I thought.
Not a single dot.

I wanted to build a beast of a snowman this year
And sled down those snow hills with no fear.
Ski around the maze of trails with ease,
Seeing all the lovable white trees.

Then one day I saw something fall,
And it was so very small.
There were millions of them coming.
Oh, it was stunning!

The sun made the snow sparkle like glitter.
It was a real homerun hitter!
Today the snow will fall all day,
Leaving a path of fun on its way.

I immediately had chills run up my spine.
This is my heart’s sunshine.
I love the snow so very much,
And I ran outside to hear it crunch.

67, Battery © Anne Waldman

A trio of instruments you love the notes
indissectible & extending small rockets of delight
force to love, be loved, love accelerating
love momentum, the love to travel
we will never agree the world contains
so much phenomena we’ll put on glasses
abstract it give it structure make a frame
inversely proportional to the square of
two distances apart
make us a family of celestial bodies that we
be one we ellipse about a warming sun
love that sun
dual nature of electrons heal us o heal us
I would come back not hide be in motion
I would attach myself to home again
I would be sister mother lover brother
I would be father I would be infant animal awesome
I would suffer & become extinct again
I would relight the earth with love
I would be still I would be silent & quake
I would be afraid but not for love for
the many manifestations glowing faces
Love the notes as they pour like water
love the water under your feet & when
you look look with eyes of love
all the layers, the ground under
your feet & under the ground
the imagined creatures
& above your feet the grasses the
watercress so fine to eat &
see the roots & bottom of pleasure
of moss look into pleasure the color
disappearing or changing the light
love the light & see the sky the scaffolds the planets
the length the width the distance
the congruity the parallels the fracture
love the body keep it elastic
keep it dancing rallying on its own
keep it safe from harm from red tape
& to those next to you be kind be quiet
be exalted be a charm a fusion be a battery
be insistent be an empire be a symphony
& in a moment’s gentle passing
& in a moment’s violent passing completely
be her be him be them, see the face beneath
the face & see with eyes of love, gaze straight
into eyes of love with eyes of love

68, Winter © Nirbhay Kwatra

Everything is great, everything is grand.
I have got the whole world in the palm of my hand.

Everything is perfect; it has all come in place.
I cannot seem to wipe the smile off my face.

Winters are here, winters are there,
Winter is what I like to share.

Only Christmas fest,
Just forget the rest.

Snowballs fights,
Sparky lights.

Winter is great,
Only thing I never hate.

69, Spring © David Feng

Beautiful fresh purple flowers on a hill
Slowly moving water mill
Clumps of wet frost on the ground
Life is all around
Soft grasses pop out
Flowers sprout
Chirping birds in the woods
Weather is good
Melting mountain has begun
Frosty snow quickly runs
Bright, shiny sky is clear
Sweet, fresh, crispy smell fills the air

70, The Ball Up High © Abimbola T. Alabi

Once I did hear my brother call
The sun a giant fire ball.
How can that be?
For what I see,
Is something up high so small.

I see it at the break of dawn,
When it announces the day is on.
Its brilliant gold,
A joy to behold,
And being outside is so much fun.

John might be right, for I must say,
The sun is not so cool at midday.
Its shining light
Is just so bright,
I have to pull my eyes away.

Evening comes and it’s so strange
How the sun still appears to change.
No longer small,
A bigger ball.
Its tone, now a lovely bright orange!

This curious ball hanging up high,
For me, raises many questions why.
But when it shines,
Then life is fine.
Thank God the sun is in the sky.

71, Let’s Get Out And Play © Farah Umairah

Boys and girls come out to cycle,
The sand is as soft as can be.
Leave your mum and leave your dad,
When your playing around,
You won’t feel sad.

Come with a smile and come with a ball,
You’ll be able to catch it,
If you’re super tall.

Then take the goggles,
And jump into the sea,
Open you’re eyes,
If you’re feeling brave
as can be.

You’ll see lots of crabs
And lots of fish,
You can swim with them all
If you wish.

72, Tackle Box And Tangles © Karen N. Wombles

We’ll grab our tackle boxes and head down the hill
Hoping today will be a big deal
Let’s wish for no tangles in our lines
We all must be back by dinner time

The cattails are tall
The waters are deep
All of the fish are fast asleep

The little ones gather around the pond
All six of them have been fishing since dawn
They’re only wishing if we had a magic wand
Said the little girl that was so blonde
We’ll cast the rod side by side
Stir up the water so the fish cannot hide

We’ll take the poles and reel them in
Cast them out again and again
We’ll toss them in a net and we’ll really try not to get wet

Mom will mix up the batter, and stick the fish on a platter
We’ll eat till our bellies get fatter
It’s time for bed, we’ll check our heads
No ticks or fleas and mom is happy as can be

73, Autumn Is the Time of Year © Kenn Nesbitt

Autumn is the time of year
when changes start to happen here.
The days grow short. It’s cold outside.
The birds fly south. The squirrels hide.
The leaves fall off of all the trees.
The garden pond begins to freeze.
Another summer’s left behind.
It’s winter soon, but I don’t mind.
For autumn is the time when I
begin to dream of pumpkin pie.

74, Dear Summer © Kenn Nesbitt

Dear Summer, you’re always my favorite.
I really do like you a lot.
You come every year,
and I’m glad when you’re here.
I don’t even mind that you’re hot.

Dear Summer, whenever you visit,
I love to go outside to play.
I get to wear shorts
and play summertime sports,
or sometimes do nothing all day.

I put on my goggles and swim suit,
and head for the beach or the park.
I go for a hike
or I ride on my bike,
and stay awake long after dark.

Dear Summer, I’m glad you could join us.
without you, it won’t be the same.
I promise I know
that you do have to go,
but, still, it seems sort of a shame.

I’m sure that I’m going to miss you.
The school year is finally here.
I had so much fun
playing out in the sun.
I guess that I’ll see you next year.

75, On A Day Like Today © David Webb

On a day like today, please take me away,
From the blowy and blustery weather.
I can’t fly a kite or ride my bike,
Because of the blustery weather.

I dream of the sun, I dream of the beach,
In a far flung sun drenched town.
I dream of better weather
To turn my day around.

76, Dreaming of Summer © Kenn Nesbitt

I’m dreaming of warm sandy beaches.
I’m dreaming of days by the pool.
I’m dreaming of fun in the afternoon sun,
and week after week of no school.

I’m thinking of swim suits and sprinklers,
imagining lemonade stands.
I’m lost in a daydream of squirt guns and ice cream
and plenty of time on my hands.

I’m picturing baseball and hot dogs,
Envisioning games at the park,
and how it stays light until late every night,
and seems like it never gets dark.

I long to ride skateboards and scooters.
I want to wear t-shirts and shorts.
I’d go for a hike, or I’d ride on my bike,
or play lots of summertime sports.

My revery turns to a yearning
to draw on the driveway with chalk.
It’s really a bummer to daydream of summer
while shoveling snow from the walk.

77, Today We Had Some Weather © Kenn Nesbitt

Today we had some weather
like I’ve never seen before,
so I pulled on my galoshes
and I headed out the door.

It sprinkled, first so lightly,
it could easily be mist.
A tornado then came dancing by,
it swung and did the twist.

The fogbanks opened up their vaults
and let out all their fogs,
and the dog pound took a pounding;
it was raining cats and dogs.

It started raining buckets,
then the rain came down in sheets.
I had never seen so many
sheets and buckets in the streets.

I’d planned to watch the weather
and, though gallantly I tried,
when it started hailing taxis
I gave up and went inside.

78, Sunbeam © Pheilm G. Martin

I’m just a little sunbeam.
Along the floor I crawl.
I climb up walls.
I creep down halls.
I offer warmth
to one and all.
Reborn every morning,
I ignite the morning bird’s call.
I die each and every night
with the coming of nightfall.

79, Fun Activities © Bipasha Roy

springtime shower starts
kids are jumping in puddles
formed in their backyard

summer sun shines bright
kids are building sand castles
on a crowded beach

autumn afternoon
children pick fruit with parents
in a vast orchard

mild winter day
children are skating on ice
in a city park

80, Sound Of Storm © Jim Hollingsworth

The clouds above are gray and dark.
With sound of thunder, lighten spark.

Rain that falls to earthly ground.
Winds that howl as moon to hound.

Fierce storm in the sky.
Beneath the covers in bed I lie.

My heart pounding as a drum.
My mind scared, body is numb.

I fall asleep upon my bed
and remember what my mother said:

“Be not afraid of things in night.
With the morning sun comes the light.”

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