Children's Corner; Short Stories

The Negro Mother

Children, I come back today
To tell you a story of the long dark way
That I had to climb, that I had to know
In order that the race might live and grow.
Look at my face -- dark as the night --
Yet shining like the sun with love's true light.
I am the dark girl who crossed the red sea
Carrying in my body the seed of the free.
I am the woman who worked in the field
Bringing the cotton and the corn to yield.
I am the one who labored as a slave,
Beaten and mistreated for the work that I gave --
Children sold away from me, I'm husband sold, too.
No safety , no love, no respect was I due.

Three hundred years in the deepest South:
But God put a song and a prayer in my mouth .
God put a dream like steel in my soul.
Now, through my children, I'm reaching the goal.

Now, through my children, young and free,
I realized the blessing deed to me.
I couldn't read then. I couldn't write.
I had nothing, back there in the night.
Sometimes, the valley was filled with tears,
But I kept trudging on through the lonely years.
Sometimes, the road was hot with the sun,
But I had to keep on till my work was done:
I had to keep on! No stopping for me --
I was the seed of the coming Free.
I nourished the dream that nothing could smother
Deep in my breast -- the Negro mother.
I had only hope then , but now through you,
Dark ones of today, my dreams must come true:
All you dark children in the world out there,
Remember my sweat, my pain, my despair.
Remember my years, heavy with sorrow --
And make of those years a torch for tomorrow.
Make of my pass a road to the light
Out of the darkness, the ignorance, the night.
Lift high my banner out of the dust.
Stand like free men supporting my trust.
Believe in the right, let none push you back.
Remember the whip and the slaver's track.
Remember how the strong in struggle and strife
Still bar you the way, and deny you life --
But march ever forward, breaking down bars.
Look ever upward at the sun and the stars.
Oh, my dark children, may my dreams and my prayers
Impel you forever up the great stairs --
For I will be with you till no white brother
Dares keep down the children of the Negro Mother.

BY
Langston Hughes

Children's Corner; Christmas Stories

Mama's Christmas Miracle

Mama told me a story a long long time ago not like any that I'd ever heard,

all about a little girl mama used to know, how I remember every word.

Seems like a lifetime ago, though I remember it so well,

it was a Christmas eve I'll never forget as far as I can tell.

We were sitting at the kitchen table, it was only my mother and me,

I was dreaming of Christmas morning and all the presents under the tree.

Dad wasn't doing that well and money was scarce that year,

Mama found a way of telling me without me shedding one tear.

She told me a story of a little girl and a Christmas long ago,

who came from far away, a place where it rarely snowed.

Santa was just a dream to her, but she believed so much inside,

that Christmas was going to be special, so she knelt by her bed and she cried.

"Lord let Santa remember me if not just this one time, I promise I won't ask for much, maybe a dolly I can call all mine."

She closed her prayer and thanked the Lord for all that she received,

she knew that Santa would really come if only she believed.

She wrote a letter to Santa unfamiliar to most girls and boys,

Though her list was long and full, on it there were no toys.

Only things we take for granted, like new shoes or underpants,

hair bows for her sisters and gloves to warm her brother's hands.

At the bottom of her list she asked if it not be to much, for a brand new baby doll she could hold and love and touch.

Then Christmas morning came and she looked beneath her tree,

Not a present to be found as far as she could see.

She didn't give up hope as she heard a knocking sound,

When she opened up her door a great big box she found.

She called out to her mother and dad, brothers and sisters too,

She said "my prayers were answered, there's something in here for all of you."

Her daddy got brand new boots, her mother new underpants, her sisters got beautiful hair bows, her brothers warm gloves for their hands.

Buried deep beneath the box was a brand new baby doll and a note that said Merry Christmas I love you one and all.

I'll never forget that story because much to my surprise,

I saw the true meaning of Christmas shining in my mother's eyes.

For those of you who are wondering, as if you didn't know,

The little girl in Mama's story was my mother long ago.

This poem is about a childhood memory I will never forget. God bless all the mothers in this world and may all your Christmases be ones to remember.

© Kathy J Parenteau

Source: Mama's Christmas Miracle, Christmas Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/mamas-christmas-miracle#ixzz2nlt6WS9N

Family Friend Poems

Children's Corner; Christmas Poetry

The Littlest Christmas Tree

The littlest Christmas tree,

lived in a meadow of green,

Among a family,

of tall evergreens,

He learned how to whisper,

the evergreen song,

with the slightest of wind,

that came gently along.

He watched as the birds,

made a home out of twigs,

and couldn't wait till, 

he too was big.

For all of the trees,

offered a home,

the maple, the pine, and the oak,

who's so strong.

"I hate being little",

the little tree said,

"I can't even turn colors,

like the maple turns red",

"I can't help the animals,

like the mighty old oak",

"He shelters them all,

in his wide mighty cloak".

The older tree said,

"Why little tree you don't know?

The story of a mighty king,

from the land with no snow?"

Little tree questioned,

"A land with no snow?"

"Yes!" said old tree,

"A very old story,

from so long ago".

"A star appeared, 

giving great light,

over a manger, 

on long winters night.

A baby was born, 

a king of all kings,

and with him comes love, 

over all things."

"He lived in a country,

all covered in sand,

and laid down his life,

to save all of man.'

Little tree thought of the gift

given by him,

then the big tree said with the 

happiest grin,

"We're not just trees,

but a reminder of that day,

there's a much bigger part,

of a role that we play!"

"For on Christmas eve,

my life I'll lay down,

in exchange for a happier,

loving ground.

And as I stand dying,

they'll adorn me in trim,

this all will be done,

in memory of him".

"Among a warm fire, 

with family and friends,

in the sweet songs of Christmas,

I'll find my great end,

then ever so gently,

he'll come down to see,

and take me to heaven,

Jesus and me".

"So you see little tree,

we are not like the oak,

who shelters all things,

beneath his great cloak.

Nor are we like the maple

in fall,

who's colors leave many,

standing in awe".

"The gift that we give,

is ourselves, limb for limb,

the greatest of honor,

in memory of him".

The little tree bowed, 

his head down and cried,

and thought of the king, 

who willingly died.

For what kind of gift,

can anyone give?

Then to lay down your life,

when you wanted to live.

A swelling of pride 

came over the tree,

Can all of this happen?

Because of just me?

Can I really bring honor?

By adorning a home?

By reminding mankind,

that he's never alone?

With this thought, little tree,

began singing with glee,

Happy and proud,

to be a true Christmas tree.

You can still hear them singing,

even the smallest in height,

singing of Christmas,

and that one holy night.

© Amy Peterson

Children's Corner; Short Stories

Aesop's Fables - The Heron

A Heron was walking sedately along the bank of a stream, his eyes on the clear water, and his long neck and pointed bill ready to snap up a likely morsel for his breakfast. The clear water swarmed with fish, but Master Heron was hard to please that morning.

"No small fry for me," he said. "Such scanty fare is not fit for a Heron."

Now a fine young Perch swam near.

"No indeed," said the Heron. "I wouldn't even trouble to open my beak for anything like that!"

As the sun rose, the fish left the shallow water near the shore and swam below into the cool depths toward the middle. The Heron saw no more fish, and very glad was he at last to breakfast on a tiny Snail.

Do not be too hard to suit or you may have to be content with the worst or with nothing at all.

Copyright © 2011 House of Lore

Poems For Kids 

Children's Corner; Poetry

A Thanksgiving Fable

Thanksgiving Mouse, It was a hungry pussy cat, 

upon Thanksgiving morn,

And she watched a thankful little mouse, 

that ate an ear of corn.

"If I ate that thankful little mouse, 

how thankful he should be,

When he has made a meal himself, 

to make a meal for me!

"Then with his thanks for having fed, 

and his thanks for feeding me,

With all his thankfulness inside, 

how thankful I shall be!"

Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, 

upon Thanksgiving Day;

But the little mouse had overheard

and declined (with thanks) to stay.

by Oliver Herford

Children's Corner; Short Stories

The Little Red Hen

   

The little Red Hen was in the farmyard with her chickens, when she found a grain of wheat.

"Who will plant this wheat?" she said.

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

"I will, then," said the little Red Hen, and she planted the grain of wheat.

When the wheat was ripe she said, "Who will take this wheat to the mill?"

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

"I will, then," said the little Red Hen, and she took the wheat to the mill.

When she brought the flour home she said, "Who will make some bread with this flour?"

"Not I," said the Goose.

"Not I," said the Duck.

"I will, then," said the little Red Hen.

When the bread was baked, she said, "Who will eat this bread?"

"I will," said the Goose

"I will," said the Duck

"No, you won't," said the little Red Hen. "I shall eat it myself.  Cluck! cluck!"  And she called her chickens to help her.