poems about children

All posts tagged poems about children

“Seita’s Requiem”(Poem)”清太のレクイエム”(诗)

Published May 14, 2013 by ladyserenity92

My four-year old sister and I have seen what no child should have witness.

Fireflies have chosen us.


Stay away from my sister!


The souls of light have chosen her.

The fireflies are transformed into firebombs.

Villages around us are tuned into brimstone and ashes.

Our own mother is swept up in the rapture.

Our own aunt has turned her back towards us.

By the fireflies, we are not welcome.

We find a grave in the caves.

And everyday the fireflies visit my sister.

“Why my sister,” I asked the gods.

The gods have made it clear with these words,

“Her time has come.”

I steal

hoping  to keep my sister alive.

With Mom’s money I brought my sister a watermelon.

She is frail and weak from hunger.

Like a fool,

I left my sister,

believing I’ve defected the god of death.

The god of death came in the form of fireflies.

Death had claimed my best friend.

In a world of loneliness,

I spent the last of my meaningless money to buy my sister a coffin.

I watched the coffin turn into amber.

Amber that transformed into fireflies.

All I have of my sister are her ashes in a candy-tin.

A crazy 14-year old man enraged in madness.

September 21,1945 was the day that my life came to an end.

Author’s note:

This poem was inspired by the war anime “Grave of the Fireflies”.

Go for broke!


Watashi no 4-sai no imōto, furui mono to watashi wa kodomo ga mokugeki shite inai hazudesu nani o mitekimashita. Hotaru wa watashitachi o erabimashita. Chigau! Ane kara hanarete taizai! Shikashi Hikari no tamashī wa kanojo o erabimashita. Hotaru wa, shōidan ni henkan sa remasu. Watashitachi no mawari no mura wa iō to hai ni chōsei sa rete imasu. Watashitachi jishin no haha ga kanki ni nomikoma rete iru. Watashitachi jishin no oba wa, watashitachi ni mukatte senaka o muketa. Hotaru ni yori, wareware wa kangei sa rete imasen. Watashitachiha, dōkutsu de haka o mitsukeru. To nichijō no hotaru wa watashi no imōto o hōmon. ” Naze watashi no imōto wa,” watashi wa kami ni tazuneta. Kamigami wa, korera no kotoba de, sore ga akiraka ni natta ” Kanojo no toki ga kita. ” Watashi ga nusumu Imōto ga iki tsudzukeru koto o nozon de. Mama no okane de watashi wa suika o imōto o motarashita. Kanojo ga kyojaku to kiga kara yowai. Orokamono no yō ni, Watashi wa, watashi no imōto o nokoshi Watashi wa shi no kami o tōsō shita to shinjite. Shinigami wa, hotaru no katachi de kimashita. Shi wa watashi no shin’yū o shuchō shite ita. Kodoku no sekaide wa, Watashi wa imōto hitsugi o ​​ kōnyū suru watashi no muimina okane no saigo o sugoshita. Watashi wa kohaku ni hitsugi no tān o mimashita. Hotaru ni henshin sono anbā. Watashi wa watashi no imōto no motsu subete ga kyandīsuzu no kanojo no haidesu. Kurutta 14-sai no otoko ga kyōki ni gekido. 9 Tsuki 21, 1945 wa, watashinojinsei wa owari ni kita hidatta. Chosha chū: Kono uta wa, sensō anime” hotarunohaka” ni shokuhatsu sa remashita. Kowashita tame ni iku!


Published September 22, 2009 by ladyserenity92

Just a small poem I wrote back in 2003 about my love of running. I once ran at the special Olympics. Please enjoy.

Sammy likes to run.

Look at her go.

‘Run, Sammy, Run!’ Is what the kids and teacher in Junior High cheer.

She’ll outrun anyone and everyone.

Even the boys.

As she dashes like Sonic, they call her the 15-year old lighting.

I wanted to ask her why she runs.

Without a word, she runs and leaves me in the wind.

Perhaps, I’ll never know.

Stay Tuned!

The Children are crying

Published June 18, 2009 by ladyserenity92

The Children are crying.

They cry for freedom from the oppressions of their government.

They cry out to be heard.

They cry to have a voice.

‘You silly, children.’ the government mocks, ‘you don’t have a voice. What can you do?’

Out of my classroom window, I see my friends.

Some are arrested; other are sent to prison in handcuffs.

While others die on the ground.

I see my girlfriend with the boy she loved dead on the ground.

The streets are red; and so is the schoolyard.

The brave children put up a fight to be heard in an oppressed government.

Many are incarcerated and many die for a fight for freedom.

The Children are crying. But are we listening?


Author’s note.

This is a haunting poem about defiance, the fight for freedom and the cost of the fight. In the 1960’s and 1970’s there was a power struggle between the youth and government. They was a shocking image that I saw of a nameless girl crying for a dead boy on the ground. It was a tragic photograph that shocked the world. Now in 2009,(30 years after the fight for freedom in Iran), the children are in the street once more. Fighting, defining and dying for a voice of freedom. I may be young, but I know that good wins over evil if their is a fight for it. This poem is dedicated to the youth of Iran. We hear you, don’t give up.

Stayed Tuned!


Published April 9, 2009 by ladyserenity92

A poem about a hair store’s owner daugther. She was only three when I saw her picture. I know that when she see this poem, she will come to terms of her parents love.

Little Esther is three years old.

She likes hugs and kisses from her parents.

And Saturday morning cartoons and fruit loops.

Esther likes to go trick or treating for candy and toys.

She loves angels and fairy tales of long ago.

Esther loves Father Rhee and his visits on Christmas Day.

She often brings dandelions to her mother on Mother’s Day,

And spills juice on her hanoi.*

She hopes someday to be a teacher as she sings her little songs.

Daddy hugs his little girl and kisses her goodnight.

After she’s in bed, Daddy takes one look at her.

And knows in his heart that his Esther won’t stay little forever.

For now, Esther is three years old. And Daddy knows that she will always be his little girl in his heart when she grows up.


(For the real Esther. You will always be your parents’ little girl.)

*Type of Korean dress worn by Korean men and women.


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