"warry" poems - Hello Poetry

When a baby is born When a baby came to into the world When they came into existence in the true world They came with joyous sound Yes people say they cry Thats a cry of joy They came out singing for joy They came out with different tones and musics The lyrics of there songs is unexplainable They music only defines happy moment They sing and dont warry They propagate and catalyses the happiness of there parents The only true definition of the music is happiness Oh the joy of a baby As they are born They dont know pain They dont know sorrow They dont know deciet They dont keep malice for people They had no enemies They accept there parents for who they are They dont care if they are rich or not Tall or short Black r white Blind or not Deaf or dumb They came out with total acceptance They are true definition of been innocent All they know is sing for joy All they know is smile All they know is shout of joy All they know is play All they know is that the world meant happiness They dont have any problems But they are solution to a problem They solve problem of barreness They restore joy and happiness to there parents They dont hate Rather they love They dont discriminate Rather they accommodate They dont course Reather they bless the family As they grow day by day They got prettier,handsome and beautiful As they grow The joy of the family also grow They sing with passion They cry out with loud voice They they cry out saying..... Describing how beautiful the world is The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever Sometimes i wish i could turn back the hands of time and go back being a baby Sometimes i wish i could go back to my mothers womb and be born again Just to enjoy the feelings of been a baby I wish i could turn back the rotation and the revolution of the earth on its axis Yet all this are impossible If am given three wishes First is to go back as a baby Second will be going back as a baby Third will be going back as a baby The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

0

Oct 11, 2013

Oct 11, 2013 at 6:55 AM UTC

azubuogu-chinwendu-chukwudi

THE JOY OF A BABY

When a baby is born When a baby came to into the world When they came into existence in the true world They came with joyous sound Yes people say they cry Thats a cry of joy They came out singing for joy They came out with different tones and musics The lyrics of there songs is unexplainable They music only defines happy moment They sing and dont warry They propagate and catalyses the happiness of there parents The only true definition of the music is happiness Oh the joy of a baby As they are born They dont know pain They dont know sorrow They dont know deciet They dont keep malice for people They had no enemies They accept there parents for who they are They dont care if they are rich or not Tall or short Black r white Blind or not Deaf or dumb They came out with total acceptance They are true definition of been innocent All they know is sing for joy All they know is smile All they know is shout of joy All they know is play All they know is that the world meant happiness They dont have any problems But they are solution to a problem They solve problem of barreness They restore joy and happiness to there parents They dont hate Rather they love They dont discriminate Rather they accommodate They dont course Reather they bless the family As they grow day by day They got prettier,handsome and beautiful As they grow The joy of the family also grow They sing with passion They cry out with loud voice They they cry out saying..... Describing how beautiful the world is The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever Sometimes i wish i could turn back the hands of time and go back being a baby Sometimes i wish i could go back to my mothers womb and be born again Just to enjoy the feelings of been a baby I wish i could turn back the rotation and the revolution of the earth on its axis Yet all this are impossible If am given three wishes First is to go back as a baby Second will be going back as a baby Third will be going back as a baby The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

62

The moment you worry About the days which are gone You create the current warry About what you couldn't control

0

Apr 21, 2018

Apr 21, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC

colmistoirm

Let The Past, Be Past

The moment you worry About the days which are gone You create the current warry About what you couldn't control

4

Before you go trust in me follow the warm Autumn fade watch the geese to their journeys end. Warry words I will not speak. I shall return and talk of love Our story is yet to be told.

0

Sep 8, 2017

Sep 8, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC

Antony_Glaser

Autumn fayre

Before you go trust in me follow the warm Autumn fade watch the geese to their journeys end. Warry words I will not speak. I shall return and talk of love Our story is yet to be told.

6

A poem, Is a little story, You write on little paper. Sometimes it rhymes, Sometimes it doesn't. A poem, Is a song, That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud. Sometimes it's mortal and sad, Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty. A poem, Is a prayer, One that the author begs you to hear. Sometimes it will save your soul, Sometimes it will save another's. A poem, Is a gift, So you should treat it as one. Sometimes you will receive one, Sometimes you won't. A poem, Is a curse, So be warry if you steal one. Sometimes it will come back to bite you, Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would. A poem, Is a poet, And those who are poets, are poetry. Sometimes they strive for fame, Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names. A poem, Is a call in the night, That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting. Sometimes it heals them, Sometimes it guides them to healing. A poem, Is optional, But those who read them won't regret. Sometimes we can't bear to read poems, Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.

0

Jan 15, 2025

Jan 15, 2025 at 8:23 PM UTC

AbbottJHardison

A Poem

A poem, Is a little story, You write on little paper. Sometimes it rhymes, Sometimes it doesn't. A poem, Is a song, That the singer was too hurt to sing aloud. Sometimes it's mortal and sad, Sometimes it's the irony of walking out of a flood thirsty. A poem, Is a prayer, One that the author begs you to hear. Sometimes it will save your soul, Sometimes it will save another's. A poem, Is a gift, So you should treat it as one. Sometimes you will receive one, Sometimes you won't. A poem, Is a curse, So be warry if you steal one. Sometimes it will come back to bite you, Sometimes it will just leave you fearing the possibility it would. A poem, Is a poet, And those who are poets, are poetry. Sometimes they strive for fame, Sometimes they leave their work in random places under random names. A poem, Is a call in the night, That echoes into the ears of those who are hurting. Sometimes it heals them, Sometimes it guides them to healing. A poem, Is optional, But those who read them won't regret. Sometimes we can't bear to read poems, Sometimes we can only bear to read poems.

40

It had happened so long ago None now there could recall How or why the helmets and armor Lay at the bottom of the shallow sea Like clockwork at dusk Such relics would wash ashore Battered, rusted and torn To lay on the white sand beach The children of the nearby village Loved to pick the prettiest pieces And bring them back as souvenirs To decorate their little huts The adults of the village didn't mind But they were warry of certain obiects Namely the black boxes and drums Full of pointed or rounded cylinders Years ago thinking it to be junk A villager threw one such box in a fire The result sounded like a great host Of lightning striking over and over Some of the villagers thought The boxes could be used to make fire But none of them yet have deciphered How the strange objects work No, for the most they are content Living in their riverside village Happy and oblivious That the world ended long ago

0

Jun 16, 2017

Jun 16, 2017 at 12:03 AM UTC

hadrian-veska

The Shallow Sea

It had happened so long ago None now there could recall How or why the helmets and armor Lay at the bottom of the shallow sea Like clockwork at dusk Such relics would wash ashore Battered, rusted and torn To lay on the white sand beach The children of the nearby village Loved to pick the prettiest pieces And bring them back as souvenirs To decorate their little huts The adults of the village didn't mind But they were warry of certain obiects Namely the black boxes and drums Full of pointed or rounded cylinders Years ago thinking it to be junk A villager threw one such box in a fire The result sounded like a great host Of lightning striking over and over Some of the villagers thought The boxes could be used to make fire But none of them yet have deciphered How the strange objects work No, for the most they are content Living in their riverside village Happy and oblivious That the world ended long ago

28

Before you go trust in me, follow the warm Autumn fade. Watch the geese to their journeys end. Warry words I will not speak. I shall return and talk of love. Our story is yet to be told.

0

May 3, 2018

May 3, 2018 at 9:23 AM UTC

Antony_Glaser

Autumn fayre

Before you go trust in me, follow the warm Autumn fade. Watch the geese to their journeys end. Warry words I will not speak. I shall return and talk of love. Our story is yet to be told.

6