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The Best Fall Poems for Kids: Beautiful Autumn Poetry

September 8, 2021 by thisintentionalhome 2 Comments

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In this post I share a HUGE list of the best fall poems for kids. You will find famous poems, classic autumn poems, and fun poems all about the wonderful fall season. These fall poems for kids can be read and enjoyed by young people as well as adults!

Fall themed tea cups and a candle on a table for use during a fall poetry tea time.

It shouldn’t come as any surprise now to know that I absolutely love poetry. I also love doing poetry tea time with the kids every week. Fall is one of my favorite seasons for poetry tea time because we trade the smoothies and outdoor picnics for candles, hot tea, coziness and wonderful fall poems!

In honor of this autumn season, I wanted to share a HUGE list of fall poems to help get your fall and fall poetry tea time off on the right foot. Consider this a free lesson plan for your fall poetry readings whether you read it at morning time, poetry tea time or just for casual readings here and there. Another excellent way to use these is grab these poems and use them on a fall nature walk! I hope this even sparks some inspiration in your chid wanting to create their own poem or help inspire them with some fall creative writing.

Fall Poems for Kids

I have gathered here a wide array of different poets. There will be some famous poems here as well as some that I hope will be new to you so that you can discover different kinds of poetry. Don’t be afraid to read these with younger children as well as older children. The older children will benefit from the more simple poems and the young kids will benefit from the more complex poems.

Alright, so without further ado, here are the best autumn poems to read with your kids. I hope you have so much fun reading them!

Gathering Leaves by Robert Frost

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who's to say where
The harvest shall stop?

O Autumn, Autumn! by Effie Lee Newsome

O Autumn, Autumn! O pensive light
     and wistful sound!
Gold-haunted sky, green-haunted ground!

When, wan, the dead leaves flutter by
     Deserted realms of butterfly!
When robins band themselves together

     To seek the sound of sun-steeped weather;
And all of summer’s largesse goes
     For lands of olive and the rose!

October by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

October turned my maple's leaves to gold;
     The most are gone now; here and there one 
          lingers.
Soon these will slip from out the twig's weak
          hold.
Like coins between a dying miser's fingers.

November Night by Adelaide Crapsey

Listen...
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall.

A snippet from “A Calender” by Sara Coleridge

Warm September brings the fruit;
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant;
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast;
Then the leaves are whirling fast.

October’s Party by George Cooper

October gave a party;
     The leaves by hundred's came --
The Chestnuts, Oaks and Maples,
     And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
     And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
     Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
     Th Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
     In scarlet looked their best.
All balanced to their partners,
     And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
     New fallen from the sky.

Then, in the rustic hollow,
     At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
     And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
     They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended
     In jolly "hands around."

Come, Little Leaves by George Cooper

"Come, little leaves," said the wind one day.
"Come over the meadows with me and play;
Put on your dresses of red and gold,
For the summer is gone and the days grow cold."

Soon as the leaves heard the wind's loud call,
Down they came fluttering, one and all;
Over the brown fields they danced and flew,
Singing the sweet little song they knew.

"Cricket, good-by, we've been friends so long,
Little brook, sing us your farewell song;
Say you are sorry to see us go;
Ah, you will miss us, right well we know.

"Dear little lambs in your fleecy fold,
Mother will keep you from harm and cold;
Fondly we watched you in vale and glade,
Say, will you dream of our loving shade?"

Dancing and whirling, the little leaves went,
Winter had called them, and they were content;
Soon, fast asleep in their earthly beds,
The snow laid a coverlid over their heads.

Merry Autumn Days by Charles Dickens

'Tis pleasant on a fine spring morn
     To see the buds expand,
'Tis pleasant in the summertime
     To see the fruitful land;
'Tis pleasant on a winter's night
     To sit around the blaze,
But what joys like these, my boys,
     To merry autumn days!

We hail the merry autumn days,
     When leaves are turning red;
Because they're far more beautiful
     Than anyone has said.
We hail the merry harvest time,
     The gayest of the year;
The time of rich and bounteous crops,
     Rejoicing and good cheer.

Fall by Winifred C. Marshall

They're coming down in showers,
The leaves all gold and red;
They're covering the little flowers,
And tucking them in bed
They've spread a fairy carpet
All up and down the street;
And when we skip along to school,
they rustle 'neath our feet

Besides the Autumn Poets Sing by Emily Dickinson

Besides the Autumn poets sing,	
A few prosaic days	
A little this side of the snow	
And that side of the Haze -	
  
A few incisive mornings -	        
A few Ascetic eves -	
Gone - Mr Bryant's "Golden Rod" -	
And Mr Thomson's "sheaves."	
  
Still, is the bustle in the brook -	
Sealed are the spicy valves -	        
Mesmeric fingers softly touch	
The eyes of many Elves -	
  
Perhaps a squirrel may remain -	
My sentiments to share -
Grant me, Oh Lord, a sunny mind -        
Thy windy will to bear!

When the Frost is on the Punkin by James Whitcomb Riley

When the frost is on the punkin and
     the fodder's in the shock.
And you hear the kyouck and gobble
     of the struttin' turkey cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and
     the clickin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer asw he
     tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then's the times a feller is
     a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from
     a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded,
     and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and
     the fodder's in the chock

They's something kindo' harty-like
     about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and
     the coolin' fall is here--
Of course we miss the flowers, and the
     blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds
     and buzzin of the bees;

But the air's so appetizin'; and the
     landscape through the haze
Of as crisp and summy morning of the
     eirly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the 
     colorin' to mock--
When the frost is on the punkin and
     the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels
     of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangles leaves,
     as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries--kindo'
     lonesome-like, but still
A-preaching' sermuns to us of the
     barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the
     reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below--the
     clover overhead!--
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the
     tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and
     the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and
     the ons a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in
     red and yeller heaps;
And you cider-makin' 's over, and
     yourwimmen-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter,
     and theyr souse and saussage, too!
I don't know how to tell it--but ef
     sick thing could be
As the Angels wantin' boardin', and
     they'd call around on me--
I'd want to 'commodate 'em--all
     whole indurin' flock--
When the frost is on the punkin and
     the fodder's in the shock!

Autumn by Emily Dickinson

The morns are meeker than they were,
     the nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
     The rose is out of town.

The maple wears a gayer scarf,
     The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
     I'll put a trinket on.

Something Told the Wild Geese by Rachel Field

Something told the wild geese
     It was time to go.
Though the fields lay golden
     Something wshipered, -- "Snow."
Leaves were green and stirring,
     Berries, luster glossed,
But beneath warm feathers
     Something cautioned,--"Frost."
All the sagging orchards
     Steamed with amber spice,
But each wild breast stiffened
     At remembered ice.
Something told the wild geese
     It was time to fly,--
Summer sun was on their wings,
     Winter in their cry.

Autumn Song by Hilda Conkling

I made a ring of leaves
On the autumn grass:
I was a fairy queen all day.
Inside the ring, the wind wore sandals
Not to make a noise of going.
The caterpillars, like little snow men,
Had wound themselves in their winter coats.
The hands of the trees were bare
And their fingers fluttered.
I was a queen of yellow leaves and brown,
And the redness of my fairy ring
Kept me warm.
For the wind blew near,
Though he made no noise of going,
And I hadn't a close-made wrap
Like the caterpillars.
Even a queen of fairies can be cold
When summer has forgotten and gone!
Keep me warm, red leaves;
Don't let the frost tiptoe into my ring
On the magic grass!

An Autumn Evening by Kikaku

     The autumn day is done,
A single solitary owl
     Smiles at the setting sun.
Fall Poems for Kids being read during a fall poetry tea time with fall themed tea cups, tea and a candle at a table.

To Wild Swans at Coole by William Butler Yeats

The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still,

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

All the Bright Colors by Margaret Wise Brown

Happy happy colors
Colors of carrots and peas
Red the color of red balloons
Green of grasses and trees
Gray the color of winter skies
Purple of tropical seas
Blue the color of Concord grapes
Yellow the stripes of bees
Happy happy colors
Colors of autumn leaves

To Autumn by John Keats

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
   Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
   With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; 
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 
   And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
      To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
   With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease, 
      For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. 

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
   Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
   Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, 
   Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
      Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: 
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
   Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
   Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, 
      Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. 

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they? 
   Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— 
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
   And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; 
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
   Among the river sallows, borne aloft 
      Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
   Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 
   The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; 
      And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Autumn Fires by Robert Louis Stevenson

In the other gardens
     And all up the vale,
From the autumn bonfires
     See the smoke trail!

Pleasant summer over
     And all the summer flowers,
The red fire blazes,
     The grey smoke towers.

Sing a song of seasons!
     Something bright in all!
Flowers in the summer,
     Fire in the fall!

Autumn Thoughts by John Greenleaf Whittier

Gone hath the Spring, with all its flowers,
And gone the Summer's pomp and show,
And Autumn, in his leafless bowers,
Is waiting for the Winter's snow.

I said to Earth, so cold and gray,
'An emblem of myself thou art.'
'Not so,' the Earth did seem to say,
'For Spring shall warm my frozen heart.'
I soothe my wintry sleep with dreams
Of warmer sun and softer rain,
And wait to hear the sound of streams
And songs of merry birds again.

But thou, from whom the Spring hath gone,
For whom the flowers no longer blow,
Who standest blighted and forlorn,
Like Autumn waiting for the snow;

No hope is thine of sunnier hours,
Thy Winter shall no more depart;
No Spring revive thy wasted flowers,
Nor Summer warm thy frozen heart.

Golden Air by Margaret Wise Brown

When the wind blows
The leaves fall free
Yellow leaves falling
In golden air

And everywhere
Upon the ground
Leaves of gold
Are scattered round.

Sonnet 73 by William Shakespeare

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

November by John Clare

I love the fitful gust that shakes
     The casement all the day,
And from the glossy elm tree takes
     The faded leaves away,
Twirling them by the windowpane
With thousands others down the lane.

I love to see the cottage smoke
     Curl upward through the trees,
The pigeons nestled round the cote,
     November days like these;
The cock upon the woodland crowing,
The mill sails on the heath a-going.

Ladybug, Be Good by Norma Farber

Summer's over.  Work is through.
Lady, get to bed.
Where your tasty meadow grew,
now a stubble rubs instead.

Dream of lice and aphides,
brood on summer scale.
Hide your wings from crystal freeze,
polka dots from bouncing hail.

Shrink from bleak and blizzard whiffs.
Barely breathe: it's best.
Ladybug, not buts and ifs.
Close your shutters, come to rest.

Harvest by Carl Sandburg

When the corn stands yellow in September,
A red flower ripens and shines among the stalks
And a red silk creeps among the broad ears
And tall tassels lift over all else
                         and keep a singing
                         to the prairies
                         and the wind.
          
          They are the grand lone ones
          For they are never saved
                         along with the corn:

                         They are cut down
                         and piled high
                         and burned.

                         Their fire
                         lights the west in November.

Autumn Leaves by Aileen Fisher

One of the nicest beds I know
isn't a bed of soft white snow,
isn't a bed of cool green grass
after the noisy mowers pass,
it's a bed of yellow hay
making me itch for half a day--
but autumn leaves in a pile that high,
deep, and smelling like fall, and dry.
That's the bed where I like to lie
and watch the flutters of fall go by.

The Leaves Fall Down by Margaret Wise Brown

One by one the leaves fall down
From the sky come falling one by one
And the leaf by leaf the summer is done
One by one by one by one.

Leaves by Soseki

The wind that blow--
     ask them, which leaf of the tree
          will be next to go!

The Mist and All by Dixie Willson

I like the fall.
The mist and all.
I like the night owl's
Lonely call--
And wailing sound
Of wind around.

I like the gray
November day,
And bare, dead boughs
That coldly sway
Against my pane.
I like the rain.

I like to sit
And laugh at it--
And tend
My cozy fire a bit.
I like the fall--
The mist and all.--

The Tree on the Corner by Lilian Moore

I've seen
the tree on the corner
in spring bud
and summer green.
Yesterday
it was yellow gold.

Then a cold
wind began to blow.
Now I know--
you really do not see
a tree
until you see
its bones.

The Kitten Playing with the Falling Leaves by William Wordsworth

See the kitten on the wall
Sporting with the leaves that fall!
Withered leaves, one, two and three,
From the lofty elder-tree.
Through the calm and frosty air
Of this morning bright and fair
Eddying round and round they sink
Softly, slowly.--One might think,
From the motions that are made,
Every little leaf conveyed
Some small fairy, hither tending,
To this lower world descending.
--But the kitten how she starts!
Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts:
First at one, and then its fellow,
Just as light, and just as yellow:
There are many now--now one--
Now they stop and there are none.
What intentness of desire
In her up-turned eye of fire!
With a tiger-leap half way,
Now she meets the coming prey.
Lets it go at last, and then
Has it in her power again.

Autumn by Alexander Posey

In the dreamy silence
Of the afternoon, a
Cloth of gold is woven
Over wood and prairie;
And the jaybird, newly
Fallen from the heaven,
Scatters cordial greetings,
And the air is filled with
Scarlet leaves, that, dropping,
Rise again, as ever,
With a useless sigh for
Rest—and it is Autumn.

October Paint by Carl Sandburg

Flame blue wisps in the west,
Wrap yourselves in these leaves
And speak to winter about us.
Tell winter the whole story.

Read leaves up the oaken slabs,
You came little and green spats
Four months ago; your climbers
Put scroll after scroll around
The oaken slabs. "Red, come red,"
Some one with an October paint
Pot said.  And here you are,
Fifsty red arrowheads of leaf paint
Or fifty mystic fox footprints
Or fifty pointed thumbprints.
Hold on, the winds are to come
Blowing, blowing, the gray slabs
Will lose you, the winds will
Flick you away in a whiff
One by one, two by two...Yet
I have heard a rumor whispered;
Tattlers tell it to each other
Like a secret everybody knows...
Next year you will come again.
Up the oaken slabs you will put
Your pointed fox footprints
Green in the early summer
And you will be red arrowheads
In the falltime...Tattlers
Slips this into each other's ears
Like a secret everybody knows.
...If I see some one with an
October paint pot I shall be
Full of respect and say,
"I saw your thumbprints everywhere,
How do you do it?"

October by Robert Frost

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call:
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes' sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost--
For the grapes' sake along the wall.

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Filed Under: Homeschool, Learning Resources Tagged With: fall poetry, fall poetry for kids, poetry, poetry tea time

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Comments

  1. Julie

    September 10, 2021 at 2:40 am

    What a wonderful resource for parents, thank you! I love the idea of tea time along with lighting candles and using fancy tea cups together with your kids. You always share the best ideas! Now I’m excited for cozy fall days!

    Reply
  2. Ruth Lytle

    September 10, 2021 at 3:55 am

    These are great! I want my kids to memorize a poem about autumn and I didn’t want some cutesy preschool poem. Thank you for sharing!

    Reply

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Hi! I’m Stephanie. I’m a homeschool mom of 3, a voracious reader, lifelong learner and lover of all things warm and cozy. Come follow along on this journey of creating a beautiful, intentional life for me and my family. Read more about me here.

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