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Personification Poems Reduced Size

The Great Water Giant pulls the plug out of the clouds, causing a huge waterfall to spill out and soak the thirsty earth below. The giant roars with laughter as the water splashes down in many different ways.

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Patsy K.
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115 views

Personification Poems Reduced Size

The Great Water Giant pulls the plug out of the clouds, causing a huge waterfall to spill out and soak the thirsty earth below. The giant roars with laughter as the water splashes down in many different ways.

Uploaded by

Patsy K.
Copyright
© Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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The Great Water Giant

The Great Water Giant Has finished his bath. He pulls the huge plug Out of the clouds. He roars his thunderous laugh And a wet slippery waterfall Spills out of a squelchy sky. Look out below he seems to shout as the water Splooshes, splashes, plishes, ploshes, gushes,siushes, And soaks deep into the thirsty earth. by Ian Souter

Daffodowndilly She wore her yellow sun-bonnet, She wore her greenest gown; She turned to the south wind And curtsied up and down. She turned to the sunlight And shook her yellow head, And whispered to her neighbour: "Winter is dead." by A.A. Milne Tractor The tractor rests In the shed Dead or asleep, But with high Hind wheels Held so still We know It is only waiting, Ready to leap Like a heavy Brown Grasshopper. by Valerie Worth Fog The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbour and city on silent haunches and then moves on. by Carl Sandburg (1878-1967)

Jack Frost
Look out! Look out! Jack Frost is about!| Hes after our fingers and toes; And all through the night, The gay little sprite Is working where nobody knows. Hell climb each tree, So nimble is he, His silvery powder hell shake. To windows hell creep And while were asleep Such wonderful pictures hell make. Across the grass Hell merrily pass, And change all its greenness to white. Then home he will go And laugh ho, ho ho! What fun I have had in the night. by C.E. Pike

The Windmill
Behold! a giant am I! Aloft here in my tower, With my granite jaws I devour The maize, and the wheat, and the rye, And grind them into flour. I look down over the farms; In the fields of grain I see The harvest that is to be, And I fling to the air my arms, For I know it is all for me. I hear the sound of flails Far off, from the threshing-floors In barns, with their open doors, And the wind, the wind in my sails, Louder and louder roars. I stand here in my place, With my foot on the rock below, And whichever way it may blow I meet it face to face, As a brave man meets his foe. And while we wrestle and strive, My master, the miller, stands And feeds me with his hands; For he knows who makes him thrive, Who makes him lord of lands. On Sundays I take my rest; Church-going bells begin Their low, melodious din; I cross my arms on my breast, And all is peace within. by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Snow And Snow


Snow is sometimes a she, a soft one. Her kiss on your cheek, her finger on your sleeve In early December, on a warm evening, And you turn to meet her, saying "Its snowing!" But it is not. And nobodys there. Empty and calm is the air. Sometimes the snow is a he, a sly one. Weakly he signs the dry stone with a damp spot. Waifish he floats and touches the pond and is not. Treacherous-beggarly he falters, and taps at the window. A little longer he clings to the grass-blade tip Getting his grip. Then how she leans, how furry foxwrap she nestles The sky with her warm, and the earth with her softness. How her lit crowding fairylands sink through the space-silence To build her palace, till it twinkles in starlight Too frail for a foot Or a crumb of soot. Then how his muffled armies move in all night And we wake and every road is blockaded Every hill taken and every farm occupied And the white glare of his tents is on the ceiling. And all that dull blue day and on into the gloaming We have to watch more coming. Then everything in the rubbish-heaped world Is a bridesmaid at her miracle. Dunghills and crumbly dark old barns are bowed in the chapel of her sparkle. The gruesome boggy cellars of the wood Are a wedding of lace Now taking place. by Ted Hughes

City Jungle Rain splinters town. Lizard cars cruise by; their radiators grin. Thin headlights stare shop doorways keep their mouths shut. At the roadside hunched houses cough. Newspapers shuffle by, hands in their pockets. The gutter gargles. A motorbike snarls; Dustbins flinch. Streetlights bare their yellow teeth. The motorways cat-black tongue lashes across the glistening back of the tarmac night. by Pie Corbett

City Jungle Rain splinters town. Lizard cars cruise by; their radiators grin. Thin headlights stare shop doorways keep their mouths shut. At the roadside hunched houses cough. Newspapers shuffle by, hands in their pockets. The gutter gargles. A motorbike snarls; Dustbins flinch. Streetlights bare their yellow teeth. The motorways cat-black tongue lashes across the glistening back of the tarmac night. by Pie Corbett

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