Slow Children At Play Poem Analysis Essay

Let Me Be A Child

Let me know when I make you proud. And Help me to have
pride in my own accomplishments. Let me earn your trust. Then
trust me. I won't let you down. Let me try my wings. If I fail,
let me know it's OK. And encourage me to try again. Let me know
you love me. With a hug. Or a pat on the back, or when I need it,
with a firm but gentle "no." Let me be. Let me change Let me
grow. Let me tell you when I'm feeling bad... or angry… Even at
you. And let me know that even on my worst days, you still like
me. Let me dream. Share my joy when my dreams come true.
Share my tears when they don't. Let me feel secure in my home.
Help me realize that love is always there … that I can depend on
you no matter what. Let me run … let me laugh … let me play.
And most of all, let me be a child!


Children Learn What They Live

If a child lives with criticism, they learn to condemn.
If a child lives with hostility, they learn to fight.
If children live with fear, they learn to be apprehensive,
If children live with pity, they learn to feel sorry for themselves,
If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to be shy.
But do not despair ...
If a child lives with tolerance, they learn to be patient.
If a child lives with encouragement, they learn confidence.
If a child lives with praise, they learn to appreciate.
If a child lives with fairness, they live with justice.
If a child lives with security, they live to have faith.
If a child lives with approval, they learn to like himself.
If a child lives with acceptance and friendship.
they learn to find love in the world.

Dorothy Law Nolte

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking

When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you hang up my first painting on the refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another one.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you feed a stray cat, and I thought it was good to be kind to animals.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw you make my favorite cake for me, and I knew that little things are special things.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I heard you say a prayer, and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I felt you kiss me goodnight, and I felt loved.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.
When you thought I wasn't looking,
and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.

— Connie Back

Love Me For Me

Dear Mom and Dad,

My hands are little --

I don't mean to spill my milk,

My legs are short --

Please - slow down so I can keep up with you,

When I touch something bright and shiny,

Please don't slap my hands.

Please look at me when I talk to you.

I just need to know you're listening.

Let me make mistakes without feeling stupid --

My feelings are delicate.

Please don't expect the bed I made to be perfect --

Just Love me for trying.

Remember, I am a child -- not an adult.

Sometimes I don't understand the things you say.

Please just love me for being me,

Not for the things I can do.

I love you mom and dad. You're all I have.



The child is made of one hundred.
The child has a hundred languages
a hundred hands
a hundred thoughts
a hundred ways of thinking
of playing, of speaking.
A hundred, always a hundred
ways of listening
of marveling
of loving
a hundred joys for singing
and understanding
a hundred worlds to discover
a hundred worlds to invent
a hundred worlds to dream.
The child has a hundred languages
(and a hundred hundred hundred more)
but they steal ninety-nine
the school and the culture
separate the head from the body.
They tell the child to think
without hands
to do without head
to listen and not speak
to understand without joy
to love and marvel
only at Easter and Christmas.
They tell the child
to discover the world already there
and of the hundred
they steal ninety-nine.
They tell the child that
work and play
reality and fantasy
science and imagination
sky and earth
reason and dream
are things
that do not belong together.
And thus they tell the child
that the hundred is not there.
The child says:
No way.  The hundred is there!

Loris Malaguzzi

Our Children

Fleeting moments in time
The days speed by so fast,
The babes we cradled once
Seem so far in the past.

Our children so vibrant
With toys and games galore,
Endless days of playing
But now there's something more.

The need to help others,
To be responsible,
Expanding their boundaries,
Growing knowledgeable.

Incredible insights
To solve the world's woes,
So simple the answers
That these young persons know.

Our children's growing minds,
They look through caring eyes,
I have hope for the world,
In them the future lies.

Karen Lynne Nivens

— Unknown

 Unconditional Love

Several years ago, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight and he became even more upset when the child used the gold paper to decorate a box to put under the Christmas tree. Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift box to her father the next morning and said, "this is for you, Daddy."

The father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared even more when he found the box was empty. He spoke to her in a very harsh manner. "Don't you know, young lady, when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package?" The
little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was full." The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his little girl, and he begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

A short time later, the child was killed in an accident. It’s been said that her father kept that gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. And whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box and take out the imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given a golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God. There is no more precious gift anyone could hold.

 — Unknown

Caring For Children

If you can't find the time to wash the floor,
Who will remember or care?
If you can't find the time to patch the hole in the bluejeans,
They can just wear another pair.
The dust can sit right there, for tomorrow there will be more,
If the day is too short to bake a cake,
You can always run to the store.
But if I forget to wipe a tear,
Or kiss an injured knee,
Or turn a frown upside down,
Until it chuckles with glee...
Or hear a story, read to me,
Or if I fail to stop a chat,
Or listen to unspoken words that only sad eyes can tell,
if I miss a chance to see the world through these precious eyes,
A flower, A crawling bug, a rainbow in the sky,
A new book, A birthday, then I've missed a chance to share the day,
To share the future with a child.
For children I was too busy to hear.
Children come and stay for a short while,
Then they're gone.
A hundred years from now it will not better what kind of car I drove,
Or what kind of house I lived in,
But the world may be a better place because I was important,
In the life of a child.

— Unknown


It's wondrous what a hug can do.
A hug can cheer you when you're blue.
A hug can say, "I love you so,"
Or "Gee, I hate to see you go."
A hug is, "Welcome back again,"
And, "Great to see you! Where've you been?"
A hug can smooth a small child's pain,
And bring a rainbow after rain.
The hug! There's just no doubt about it,
We scarcely could survive without it!
A hug delights and warms and charms.
It must be why God gave us arms.
Hugs are great for fathers and mothers,
Sweet for sisters, swell for brothers.
And chances are your favorite aunts
Love them more than potted plants.
Kittens crave them. Puppies love them.
Heads of state are not above them.
A hug can break the language barrier,
And make your travels so much merrier.
No need to fret about your store of 'em;
The more you give the more there's of 'em;
So stretch those arms without delay,
And Give Someone A Hug Today!!!

— Dean Walley

I'm Special

I'm special.
In all the world there's nobody like me.
Since the beginning of time, there has never been another person like me.
Nobody has my smile. Nobody has my eyes, my nose, my hair, my hands, my voice.
I'm special.
No one can be found who has my handwriting.
Nobody anywhere has my tastes for food or music or art. No one else sees things just as I do.
In all of time there's been no one who laughs like me, no one who cries like me, and what makes me laugh and cry will never provoke identical laughter and tears from anybody else, ever.
No one reacts to any situation just as I would react.
I'm special.
I'm the only one in all of creation who has my set of abilities. Oh, there will always be somebody who is better at one of the things I'm good at, but no one in the universe can reach the quality of my combinations of talents, ideas, abilities and feelings. Like a room full of musical instruments, some may excel alone, but none can match the symphony sound when all are played together. I'm a symphony. Through all of eternity no one will ever look, talk, walk, think, or do like me.
I'm special.
I'm rare.
And, in all rarity there is great value. Because of my great value, I need not attempt to imitate others. I will accept -- yes, celebrate -- my differences.
I'm special.
And I'm beginning to realize it's no accident that I'm special.
I'm beginning to see that my Higher Power made me special for a very special purpose. He must have a job for me that no one else can do as well as I. Out of all the billions of applicants, only one is qualified, only one has the right combination of what it takes.
That one is me.
Because ... I'm special!

— Elizabeth Anne Richards Schurg

What Our Children Need

They need us to CHERISH every minute with them,
For tomorrow may be too late.
They need us to HUG them,
So they know they are important to us.
They need us to show INTEREST in what they do,
All they want is approval.
They need us to LISTEN to what they say,
Remembering they are our future.
They need us to DREAM with them,
Because this how they find where they want to be in life.
They need us to RESPECT them,
Because this is how they learn to care about others.
They need us to ENCOURAGE them.
Because this is how they become the best that they can.
They need us to NURTURE them,
Because the world can be a harsh place.

— Robin Lea Black

From Someone Who Knows!!

Is it your mom or dad or someone close,
who should be good to you…
Instead they hurt and put you down
And blame their pain on you.

They drink and fuss,
fight and cuss And make you feel so sad.
They take their problems out on you
And make you think you’re bad.

You cry and cry and wonder why,
Then wish it all away.
But still you have to struggle on
To face another day.

You count the years till you’ll be grown
And then you’ll have your say.
You cross your heart and hope to die
You’ll never be this way.

You plot and scheme,
Believe and dream
That you’ll be free in time.
You try to find some happiness,
if only in your mind.

Don’t keep these secrets all inside
Tell a teacher or a friend.
There are no magic answers
But one day this will end.

And though you feel so all alone,
God is with you everyday.
Just be strong and don’t give up
And don’t forget to pray!

— Anita Scipio

           Death Of An Innocence

She puts on a smile only to hide her fears,
you can't tell she's hurt but she's cried enough tears,
it's the death of an innocence.
With one wicked touch it's the withering of a youth
and it hurts so much.
When evil strikes in our homes threw someone we trust,
It's a world of hurt and revenge is a must.
A girl throws down a card talkin about how much fun she had
hers was so hard and it just hurt so bad,
it's the death of an innocence.
With one wicked touch it's the withering of a youth
and it hurt her so much,
her family trusted that man, he told her it was her fault
she should have ran,
she feels so guilty,
why didn't she leave?
He makes her feel so filthy and worth nothing,
it's the death of an innocence.
With one wicked touch,
it's the withering of a youth and it hurts so much.
She spills it to spring her closest friend,
she says the cops are on their way
and that her wounds will soon mend.
She tells Spring that she can't stay and she's runnin again.
Did he even think what he was doin to her?
Does he know what he did and how it'll affect her?
He killed that innocence
and now........ she's not the same

— Song By: Alexandra Gomez
of All for Sillius

Mistaken Identity

What do you think?
Now that you see what I am?
I'm still the same girl,
the girl you've always known.
I like songs and paintings,
romantic comedies and harlequin romances.
I still like staying up all night,
gossiping with friends...
only to wake up early and
eat pizza and ice cream for breakfast.
So I have a hidden past...
who doesn't have one?
So now that you see
what's been lying under my surface,
has it been worth it for you?
I've always run from my past,
but now I'm chasing it.
And my mistaken identity
is left behind,
along with my mask.

— Desiree Yvonne Nelson

Kids Get Justice

"I'm sorry, could you
leave the courtroom please?"
"Yeah, sure, no problem,
this case is only about ME, but
that's alright, I'll leave."
'This is so messed up,'
I think to myself,
'they're in the wrong business
if they don't like talking to kids.'
Family Law judge,
Please! That's bull!
'They don't like seeing their victims
as they subject them to torture.'
"It's just like the firing squad,"
I say aloud, "five possible criminals,
and one single perpetrator...
they can't handle seeing the criminals!"
Except kids suffering from abuse
are far from being the criminals.
When will kids get justice?

— Desiree Yvonne Nelson

© All rights reserved. Love Our Children USA™ 1999 – 2011


'Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' offence
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this,
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose,
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

       'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In poets as true genius is but rare,
True taste as seldom is the critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not critics to their judgment too?

       Yet if we look more closely we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind;
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right.
But as the slightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd,
So by false learning is good sense defac'd;
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can, or cannot write,
Or with a rival's, or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are, who judge still worse than he can write.

       Some have at first for wits, then poets pass'd,
Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last;
Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's so equivocal:
To tell 'em, would a hundred tongues require,
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.

       But you who seek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic's noble name,
Be sure your self and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet,
And mark that point where sense and dulness meet.

Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth denied,
She gives in large recruits of needful pride;
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find
What wants in blood and spirits, swell'd with wind;
Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense!
If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day;
Trust not yourself; but your defects to know,
Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.

       A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind,
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind,
But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise
New, distant scenes of endless science rise!
So pleas'd at first, the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal snows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains seem the last;
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way,
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise!

       A perfect judge will read each work of wit
With the same spirit that its author writ,
Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find,
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind;
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight,
The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
But in such lays as neither ebb, nor flow,
Correctly cold, and regularly low,
That shunning faults, one quiet tenour keep;
We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep.
In wit, as nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full result of all.
Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome,
(The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!'
No single parts unequally surprise;
All comes united to th' admiring eyes;
No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear;
The whole at once is bold, and regular.

       Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
In ev'ry work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
As men of breeding, sometimes men of wit,
T' avoid great errors, must the less commit:
Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays,
For not to know such trifles, is a praise.
Most critics, fond of some subservient art,
Still make the whole depend upon a part:
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd folly sacrifice.

Part 3

Learn then what morals critics ought to show,
For 'tis but half a judge's task, to know.
'Tis not enough, taste, judgment, learning, join;
In all you speak, let truth and candour shine:
That not alone what to your sense is due,
All may allow; but seek your friendship too.

       Be silent always when you doubt your sense;
And speak, though sure, with seeming diffidence:
Some positive, persisting fops we know,
Who, if once wrong, will needs be always so;
But you, with pleasure own your errors past,
And make each day a critic on the last.

       'Tis not enough, your counsel still be true;
Blunt truths more mischief than nice falsehoods do;
Men must be taught as if you taught them not;
And things unknown proposed as things forgot.
Without good breeding, truth is disapprov'd;
That only makes superior sense belov'd.

       Be niggards of advice on no pretence;
For the worst avarice is that of sense.
With mean complacence ne'er betray your trust,
Nor be so civil as to prove unjust.
Fear not the anger of the wise to raise;
Those best can bear reproof, who merit praise.

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