Poems for Children

Little Henrietta

Charcoal drawing of a house, by Chris Hoskins Little Henrietta
Comes clucking for some food
If she doesn’t get it straight away
She gets quite rude.

She pecks on the window
With her very sharp beak
And when I go to feed her
She almost tries to speak

So I ‘cluck, cluck’ back to her
We cause quite a commotion
She knows I’m not a chicken
At least, I think she has a notion

When she’s eaten all her food
She’s off again for sure
But when the sun is going to bed
She’s back again for more

And you will never ever guess
Where Henrietta sleeps
No, you’ll never ever guess
To watch her is a treat

She sits on a wooden log
And takes off like a Jumbo Jet
She flaps her wings and flies to bed
She’s never failed yet

I wonder if you can guess
Where Henrietta nests
She sleeps in an old tree
And safely has a rest

And there she sleeps till morning
And she opens her beady eyes
And then I hear her clucking
And her funny little cries

Now I know that little chickens
Are not supposed to fly
But little Henrietta does
And I don’t know why

ME

Charcoal drawing of hands, by Chris Hoskins I have two hands
I have two feet
They’re very small
And very neat
I have ten fingers
And I have ten toes
Two little ears
And one little nose
I have one tongue
So that I can speak
And lots of teeth
So that I can eat
I have two eyes
So that I can see
These are some parts
That make up me

PINK

I like pink I think
Yes, I like pink
Sometimes pink is SO pink
It makes you blink!

My tongue is pink
Just like a little pink mouse
I think my tongue is lucky
To have its very own house

Some flowers are pink
They have very long names
Their petals close tightly
Whenever it rains

Strawberry ice cream is pink
Sometimes I can eat two
I eat mine in the wink
Of an eye, do you?

Piglets are pink
But they don’t stay that way
They roll in the mud
Because that’s how they play

Red and white make pink
It’s easy to do
But I think it’s clever
To make one colour from two

I like painting pink
Oh yes, and I’m trying to think
Of all the things you can paint
That are pink

RED

I’ve got a big red bus
That I like to drive around
I pretend that it’s a London bus
And drive it round the town

I can see a fire engine
And hear a siren very loud
The fire engine looks shiny
As it drives past the crowd

When the traffic lights are red
It means stop now
Red stands for danger too
So I must stop somehow

I can see a red post box
As I’m waiting in the queue
It has a slit in the front
To post the letters through

The red mail van in front of me
Looks very very low
It waits quite patiently
Until it’s safe to go

But soon my bus is home again
And I’m tucked up in my bed
Remembering all the things I saw
That are the colour red