Beautiful poems about the village for children

Beautiful poems about the village for children 5-7 years-33

The site "Mom can do everything!" Collected beautiful poems about the village for children. The village is connected with this word. This and memories of a carefree childhood: running through the puddles barefoot, apples straight from the tree, grandmother with cakes, and even goats, chickens, cow geese ... Read these verses and imbued with the mood of childhood.


For some reason I dream of a village ...
It seems that I really missed ...
Our simple trees are dreaming:
Maples, apple trees and poplars ...

I often see aspen in daisies,
And I ditch strawberries in the meadow,
Heaven in merry sheep
Ivan Tea on a steep bank ...

I dream of a cornflower field
And golden rye,
Dreams of our steppe expanse,
Our starry summer night ...

I miss, I really miss ...
Again, the heart has long been there ...
I am tormented by these thoughts during the day -
That dream is the village at night ...


I love the village and the summer:
And the speaking of the waters, and the shadow of the oak trees,
And the incense of flowers;
What kind of soul is not cute?
Be so, forgive mosquitoes!
But I confess - desert resident,
Deserted peace in her loving
Mosquito biped, guest torturer,
No, I do not forgive you!


Grudgingly leaves day.
Heat recedes.
And saving shadow
She poured peace.

Mumbled through the village
A few cows.
Gather kids
Harbor courtyards.

The dog barking became louder
The combined cicada chorus ...
In the darkness went barn
In a society of fences ...

The night sat by the window
In the stellar burqa.
Only love moon
Rove negligee.

Slouching stump
Sleeping covered with moss ...
But again
Day will come
With the first rooster!


Here is the summer heat of fragrant smell of mint,
And the smell of thyme comes from the fields.
And like little flowers, rural girls,
Friends of my old adolescence.

How gently smell white birch,
There is no Russian village without birches.
Let them smell manure sometimes,
Where bread grows, it smells and dung.

I love to inhale all the smells from the road,
Returning back to the rural lands.
Here motherly thresholds smell like mom,
The village smells of my birthplace.


What kind of desperate cries
And the din, and the fluttering of the wings?
Who is this din wildly wild
So inappropriate aroused?

Hand geese and ducks flock
Suddenly wild and flies.
Flies - where, without knowing,
And how crazy it is.

What a sudden anxiety
All these voices sound!
Not a dog, but a four-legged demon,
Bes, turned into a dog,

In a fit of rampage, for fun,
Self-confident impudent,
Embarrassed their stately peace
And they opened, dispersed!

And as if he himself, after them,
To complete offenses,
With their nerves of steel,
Soaring on the air, fly!

What is the point in moving this?
Why all this waste of energy?
Why scare such a flight
Geese and ducks inspired?

Yes, there is a goal! In a lazy herd
Seen terrible was stagnant,
And it became necessary, for the sake of progress,
The sudden onslaught of fateful.

And here's a good providence.
With a chain let down a tomboy
To wing their purpose
Do not forget them to the end.

So modern manifestations
The meaning is sometimes confused -
But the same modern genius
Always ready to find out.

Another, you say, just barks,
And he performs the highest debt -
He, understanding, develops
Duck and goose sense.Beautiful poems about the village for children 7-10 years


Escaped from villages to capitals
It is easy for you to love your homeland:
With a cheap picture worn
Where it is easier than living in the village.
When the road sweeps the snow
When skiing - to the store for bread,
When late winter comes back,
When the wells were frozen to the bottom,
When in the morning water, firewood, manure,
When the stove woman is not up to tears
According to drunk and sold Russia,
With one prayer: Lord, save!


The village is like a small town
Not a farm, but still a village
What a bad time
Is its population gone?
Probably, there is objectivity,
Sparely now cities
And all the country animals
Roams from here to there.
And the city is a big village,
Where doves only instead of chickens,
With some ancient habit
I go to feed them in a smoke break.
I get up with a rooster before dawn,
Although there are no cocks at all,
You will not be a good poet
Wake up if milking cows.
Around parrots and cats,
Dogs - where do without them,
I go to the store with a basket,
Mushrooms gather like crazy.
Mushrooms, of course in the bank,
And the berries are also in the glass,
And we, urban wounded animals,
Remained soul in the village.
And we walk in parks and squares
And there we spend leisure time,
Like the forest Old Believers,
That completely got out of hand.
Yesenin delusion, Rubtsov,
What is time for all of us in the village
And we think again and again
That the mouse gives birth to the mountain.


In the village is grateful to the house
And grateful to the roof, grateful to the stove,
Especially when the trees bend down
And the wind extinguishes the stars like candles.
Cricket in the village is grateful,
And the wick, and kerosene.
Especially when the blizzard hits
All bearish voice.
Neighbor grateful and neighbor,
Watchdog dog.
Especially when the moon through the branches
Looking in the darkness.
And grateful to the right mind
And a good letter in the village ...
Love thanks and everything
Thanksgiving to all!


House in the village. What else do you need?
The sun to shine in the window
The branches of lilac blossoming in the fence,
Oil painting landscape on the pine wall.

So that the breeze rattled the curtains.
A clean tablecloth was on the table
Painted floor to be washed to shine
Books on the shelf, but the cat in the corner.

To loop the path from the house
To a small quiet and clean river,
To the dewdrop sparkling in the sun
Ile dragonfly on my float.

House in the village. What else do you need?
Meet the evening sunset in the yard.
Heart tired in life reward
The smell of grass fall in October.

Beautiful poems about the village for school children


The village is my village,
Forgotten, quiet and modest.
All your children have run up,
Forgot old woman you.

Only in the summer they visit you,
Fly like rooks.
Do not mourn my dear
And do not hide your tears in the night.

For someone, houses have become dachas,
And others, completely forgotten,
Slowly rot and mourn,

Do not wait in the fate of change.


In the village, the dawn of the evening will do,
Plays youth, weaving into a dance,
The harmonica sounds and the song is heard
So sad that takes the heart.
But sadness has become akin to the peasant soul,
She always lives in the chest
And accelerates only the song of his own.
Pull away from the plow, in the middle of the field a tired horse
Grazing in the herd; I enter quietly into the house
So that the night to relax - and so at the dawn of scarlet
Wake up and again with a companion-horse
On the field all day to work with the power of the new,
Blowing up furrows, il, cutting rye with a sickle,
Scented sheaves to carry on the current ready.
And a warm evening is sometimes fragrant and clear,
When a folk song is spread verse.
Oh, how her tongue is both sound and beautiful,
How much is heard in her torment experienced.


And I don’t hide it from the village,
What ran through the puddles, I was in my childhood, barefoot.
For ten kilometers, in any bad weather,
With children went to school, back and forth ,. on foot.

And I don’t hide it from the village,
That a wooden spoon gulped soup and cabbage soup.
And, in a reliable, proven, popular way,
My mother treated me on the ** fiery ** of the furnace.

And I don’t hide it from the village,
Went for mushrooms in the neighboring forests
And I felt happiness, my soul, freedom
When, falling on the grass, looking into the heavens.

And I don’t hide that I come from the village,
That in poverty, in the work had to, once live,
But, only, taught, the years lived there,
Love and respect, and the work of people appreciate.

And I don’t hide it from the village,
I tell you, without coquetry, that I am proud of it
And I feel with my soul that I am a child of nature ...
Even if they consider me a peasant, let them.

And I don’t hide it from the village,
Now I did not see such sunsets.
And do not erase from memory, my village, years.
Thank you, Lord, that I happened to live there.

And I don’t hide it from the village,
So, take it as it is.
I will not change, for someone there, for the sake of.
I was born in the village and I praise and honor.

Beautiful poems about the village for preschool children


Standing on the turn
Spacious hut
Noise in the maelstrom
Difficult fate
Maybe someone will say
Where they brought
Yes, everyone just loves
Darling village


When the dawn shines over the pine forest,
It burns, burns, and the forest no longer sleeps,
And the shadows of the pines fall in the river,
And the light runs into the streets of the village,
When, laughing, in the courtyard deaf
Adults and children meet the sun, -
Taking heart, run to the hill
And see everything in the best light.
Trees, huts, horse on the bridge,
Blooming meadow - everywhere I miss them.
And, having fallen in love with this beauty,
I will probably not create another one.


I was born under a blue sky
Where did Aries find me.
Where the songs smell of bread,
The field is a bright tapestry.

Where is the war of the past flour
They will never forget.
Where sounds flow under the stars -
Ore is mined ...

Where circles of fun are wider
I've seen circles ...
Where in the world are known
Trills Kursk nightingales.

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