Children seem naturally drawn to poetry - it's some combination

Jack Prelutsky, a poet who dedicated his craft to the young, once observed: “Children seem naturally drawn to poetry—it’s some combination of the rhyme, rhythm, and the words themselves.” In this simple truth lies something profound: that the human heart, before it is weighed down by the burdens of adulthood, instinctively delights in the music of language. Children do not demand elaborate meaning or intellectual explanation; they respond to the sound, the cadence, the play of syllables and the melody of words. They feel the pulse of poetry before they even understand it.

The ancients knew this power well. Long before history was written, wisdom was carried in rhyme and rhythm. The Iliad and the Odyssey were sung, not read. The Psalms were chanted, not studied silently. In every culture, the first stories given to the young were poems, songs, chants, and lullabies. Why? Because children remember the music of words. They breathe it in as naturally as air. It enters their hearts before it enters their minds. Prelutsky reminds us that poetry is not a luxury—it is the native language of the soul in its earliest years.

Think of a mother singing to her infant. The child does not yet know the meaning of the words, yet is calmed by the rhythm, lifted by the sound, delighted by the repetition. Or think of nursery rhymes—simple, playful verses that echo across generations: “Humpty Dumpty,” “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” These are not merely entertainments. They are the first schooling of the ear, the first shaping of memory, the first invitation into the wonder of language. They prove Prelutsky’s wisdom: children are drawn to poetry as naturally as birds are drawn to song.

History too bears witness. In ancient Ireland, the druids trained their memory through verses, teaching even the youngest with rhythm and rhyme. In India, children learned the Vedas by chanting them, their voices carrying sacred wisdom long before they could reason it out. In Africa, griots passed history to the young through rhythmic storytelling, ensuring that the heartbeat of their people never faded. Across the earth, wherever humanity has walked, poetry has been the doorway for the child into culture, memory, and truth.

Why is this so? Because rhyme and rhythm reflect the very structure of life. The beating of the heart, the rising and setting of the sun, the cycle of seasons—all are rhythm. The repetition of sounds and syllables in poetry awakens in children the sense that words themselves participate in this universal order. It makes language not just useful, but magical. And so, the child’s love of poetry is not an accident—it is the echo of creation itself.

The lesson for us is clear: if we would nourish young souls, we must give them poetry. Do not starve them on dry words alone. Give them verses that dance, that sing, that echo with rhythm. Let them memorize, chant, recite, and laugh at the play of language. In doing so, we give them not only joy but also a foundation for imagination, memory, and wisdom. Poetry will root itself deep within them, and its music will carry them through the trials of life.

Practical action follows easily: read poems aloud to your children; do not worry if they grasp every meaning. Let them feel the words first, the way one feels the warmth of the sun without knowing its science. Encourage them to play with language, to make their own rhymes, to celebrate the rhythm of speech. And even as adults, return to the simplicity of poetry—read aloud, savor the sounds, let yourself be a child again in the presence of verse.

Thus, Prelutsky’s insight endures: “Children seem naturally drawn to poetry—it’s some combination of the rhyme, rhythm, and the words themselves.” The wisdom of the ages confirms it: poetry is not only art, but nourishment. It is the music of language, the heartbeat of memory, the eternal companion of the soul from childhood to the grave. Give poetry to children, and you give them back their own humanity.