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!
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.
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.