Nursery Rhymes Stories for Kids

Incy was a little spider who loved to climb. Every morning, he climbed up the water spout, one careful leg at a time. And every morning, the rain came down and washed him right out again. Splash. Down he went, all eight legs spinning. But Incy did not give up. He shook the water off, and he climbed again. This went on for days. Up the spout, down the spout, up, down, up, down. One gray morning, the rain came harder than ever, and Incy landed in a puddle with a big splash. "That is it," he said, sitting sadly on a leaf. "I will never reach the top. The rain always wins." Just then, his friend Sunny the ladybug landed beside him. "The rain does not win," she said. "Look up." Incy looked up. The clouds were beginning to part, and a warm beam of sun was breaking through. "The sun always comes back," said Sunny. "And so does your courage. You just have to try one more time." Incy took a deep breath. He dried his little legs in the sun. Then he put one leg on the spout, then another, and another, and he climbed. Up and up he went, past the place he always fell. This time, the sun stayed out, and Incy reached the very top of the spout. "I made it!" he cheered, waving to Sunny down below. "I made it to the top!" And from that day on, whenever the rain washed him down, Incy just smiled and climbed again. He knew the sun would always come back.

Mary had a little lamb, and that lamb followed Mary everywhere she went. To school, to the park, to the market, everywhere. She trotted along so close that her little shadow fell on Mary's shoes. "She is so loyal," said the neighbors. "She never leaves Mary's side." But the little lamb was beginning to wonder about something. Everywhere she went, she was always following. She had never gone anywhere on her own. "What is over that hill?" she wondered one morning, looking at a soft green slope. "I do not know," said the other sheep. "We never go there. We always follow Mary." The lamb looked at the hill, then back at Mary, then at the hill again. Her legs felt wobbly. "But what if I get lost?" she asked. "What if I do not find my way back?" "You will," said Mary, smiling gently. "You are braver than you know. Go on." So the little lamb took a deep breath, and she took her first step away from Mary. Then another. Then another. She walked up the hill all by herself, and when she reached the top, she could see the whole valley spread out below her, green and golden and wide. "I did it!" she bleated. "I walked on my own!" She ran back down the hill and nuzzled Mary, then she looked back at the hill with proud eyes. From that day on, the lamb still followed Mary, but she also wandered on her own sometimes, just to feel brave. "A little independence," she said, "makes a big heart."

High above the world, Twinkle the little star shone all alone. She loved the way the dark sky showed off her sparkle, and she kept all her twinkle for herself. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star," the children below sang, and Twinkle puffed out her light with pride. But while Twinkle sparkled, the other stars around her grew dim. They had shared so much of their light that they had almost nothing left. "Twinkle," whispered a tired old star, "could you share just a little of your light? The sky is growing dark." Twinkle frowned. "My twinkle is mine," she said. "If I share it, there will be less for me." So she sparkled on, brighter and brighter, while the sky around her grew darker and darker. Then one night, Twinkle looked down at the children below. They were trying to find the little stars they used to see, but the sky was too dark now. "Where did all the stars go?" one child asked, sounding sad. Twinkle's heart sank. She had been so busy keeping her light that she forgot the sky needed all the stars together. "I have been selfish," she whispered. So that night, Twinkle did something new. She let her light spread out, soft and warm, reaching toward the tired old stars. And as she shared, something wonderful happened. The other stars lit up again, one by one, until the whole sky was full of twinkling lights, brighter than ever before. "Sharing my twinkle did not make it smaller," Twinkle said in wonder. "It made the whole sky brighter." And the children below sang louder than ever.

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, high and round and very sure of himself. "I will never fall," he said. But one windy day, a big gust came along, and Humpty tipped, wobbled, and fell with a great big crack. All the king's horses and all the king's men came running. They galloped and marched from every corner of the kingdom. "We will put him back together," they said. They pushed and pulled and lifted and shoved, but every time they tried, Humpty's pieces slipped and slid. "He is too heavy," said the horses. "He is too round," said the men. Everyone was tired and sad. That is when a small child stepped forward. "Maybe you do not all need to lift at the same time," the child said. "Maybe each of you can hold one piece, gently, and we can fit them together like a puzzle." The horses and the men looked at each other. It was a simple idea, but no one had tried it. So one horse held the top, one man held the side, and one horse held the bottom. The child fit the pieces together, soft and careful, like putting a broken toy back together. Click. Click. Click. And slowly, Humpty was whole again. "I am back together!" Humpty cheered, smiling a wobbly smile. The king's horses and the king's men all bowed to the small child. "We thought the strongest lifters would win," they said. "But it was teamwork and a gentle touch that fixed Humpty after all."

Once there was a little baker who loved to make pies. One morning, she made the most wonderful pie, golden and round and full of juicy berries. "Sing a song of sixpence," she hummed as she pulled it from the oven. "A pocket full of rye." But the pie was so hot it steamed, and so soft it wobbled. "I cannot wait," said the little baker. "I want to eat it right now." She grabbed her fork and leaned in. But before she could take a bite, a tiny voice piped up from the pie. "Wait!" said the voice. "The blackbirds baked inside are not ready yet. Good things need time to settle." The little baker blinked. "Blackbirds?" she said. "There are no blackbirds in my pie." "Look again," said the voice. She looked, and sure enough, four little blackbirds were peeking out from under the crust, cozy and warm. They looked up at her with tiny black eyes. "We are still baking," they said. "If you rush, we will fall apart, and so will your pie." The little baker sighed. She wanted the pie so badly. But she put down her fork, sat on her stool, and waited. She counted to ten. Then twenty. The pie cooled, and the smell of warm berries filled the whole kitchen. At last, the blackbirds called out, "Now we are ready." The little baker took a small, careful bite. It was the best pie she had ever tasted. "Patience," she said, licking her spoon, "makes everything sweeter."

Pip was a small gray mouse. He lived in a warm old house. On the wall hung a tall clock. It went tick tock all day long. Every day, Pip ran up the side of the clock. But every time, he went too fast near the top. He slipped and slid all the way down. Thump. He landed on his soft tail. 'I will get to the top today,' Pip said. 'You rush too much,' said the clock. 'Go slow and steady.' Pip shook his head. 'Fast is better,' he said. He ran up again. Halfway up, his little feet slipped. Down he went. Thump. Pip sat and rubbed his nose. 'Why do I always fall?' he asked. 'Try it my way,' the clock said. 'One small step at a time.' Pip stood up. He put one paw up. Then the next paw. He did not rush. He looked at each step before he took it. He counted in a soft voice as he climbed. One, two, three, four. Each step felt sure under his little feet. Up he went, slow and sure. At last, Pip reached the very top. He sat by the big number twelve and smiled. 'I made it!' he said. 'You did,' said the clock. 'Slow and steady gets you to the top.' Pip looked down. The floor was far below. He felt proud and tall. From that day on, Pip climbed slow and careful. He never fell again. The clock ticked a happy tick tock just for him.

Little Bo Peep had a small flock of sheep. Every morning she led them to the green hill to eat. One day, she turned her back for one minute. When she looked again, the sheep were gone. 'Where did you all go?' Bo Peep called. No one answered. Bo Peep felt scared. Her eyes got wet. 'I lost my sheep,' she said. A little bird landed near her. 'Do not give up,' the bird sang. 'Look behind the big hill.' Bo Peep wiped her eyes. She walked to the big hill. She looked behind it. There sat three sheep, munching sweet grass. 'I found you!' she said. 'But where are the rest?' 'Check by the stream,' the bird said. 'Sheep like cool water.' Bo Peep walked to the stream. Two sheep stood in the shade, drinking water. She counted them. 'One, two, three, four, five. That is all but one,' she said. One sheep was still missing. Bo Peep did not stop. She looked under the oak tree. There was the last sheep, fast asleep. 'Come on, sleepy one,' Bo Peep said. 'It is time to go home.' The sheep woke up and trotted after her. Bo Peep led all of them back to the barn, safe and sound. She gave each one a pat on the head. 'You found them all,' the bird sang. 'Yes,' Bo Peep said. 'I did not give up, and I asked for help.' That night, Bo Peep counted her sheep twice before she went to sleep. All of them were home.

Jack and Jill went up the hill to get a pail of water. The hill was steep and the pail was heavy. They held the handle together. 'We can do it,' said Jack. 'One step at a time.' 'Yes,' said Jill. 'We carry it together.' They climbed up, up, up. Near the top, Jack tripped on a rock. Down he went. The pail tipped and spilled a little water. 'Jack! Are you hurt?' Jill asked. She dropped the pail and ran to him. 'I bumped my knee,' Jack said. 'It stings a little.' Jill helped him sit up. 'Let me look,' she said. 'It is just a small scrape. Can you stand?' Jack tried. His leg wobbled. 'It is hard to walk,' he said. 'Lean on me,' Jill said. She put her arm around him. They walked back to the pail together. There was still water in it, enough for them to share. 'You hold one side and I hold the other,' Jill said. Jack nodded and gripped the handle tight. His knee still hurt, but he did not let go. They lifted the pail together. Slowly, they went back down the hill. Jack leaned on Jill a little. Jill held the pail a little higher. At the bottom, their mom was waiting. 'What happened?' she asked. 'Jack fell,' Jill said. 'But we helped each other, and we still brought the water home.' 'You two make a great team,' Mom said. She hugged them both. Jack smiled. 'A hard job is easy when you do it together.'

There was a kind black sheep who lived on a hill. Her wool was soft and thick. It kept her warm when the wind blew cold. One chilly morning, the sheep saw a little mouse shivering by the fence. The mouse had no warm coat at all. 'Little mouse, why do you shake?' the sheep asked. 'I am so cold,' the mouse said. 'I have no wool like you.' 'Come here,' the sheep said. She let the mouse snuggle into her soft wool. The mouse stopped shaking right away. Just then, a small bird landed nearby. 'It is so cold today,' the bird chirped. 'My nest is bare.' 'Take some of my wool,' the sheep said. 'Line your nest with it.' The bird pulled a few soft bits of wool and flew away happy. Soon the bird came back with a worm as a thank you gift. A rabbit hopped over. 'Sheep, your wool looks so warm. May I borrow a little for my babies?' 'Of course,' the sheep said. 'Take what you need.' The rabbit took a small, soft tuft and hopped home to her babies. The sheep felt lighter now. But she did not feel cold. Her heart felt warm and full. The farmer came up the hill that evening. 'You have been busy sharing today,' he said. 'Yes,' the sheep said. 'I have lots of wool. Sharing a little keeps everyone warm.' The farmer smiled and gave the sheep an extra scoop of oats. That night, the sheep slept warm and happy. Sharing had made her heart the warmest thing of all.

Old MacDonald had a farm. On that farm he had a cow, a duck, a pig, and a horse. Every morning, all the animals made their sounds at the very same time. 'Moo moo!' went the cow. 'Quack quack!' went the duck. 'Oink oink!' went the pig. 'Neigh neigh!' went the horse. It was very, very loud. 'Please,' said Old MacDonald, 'one at a time. My ears need a rest.' But the animals did not listen. They all mooed and quacked and oinked and neighed together, louder and louder. The noise shook the barn. The little pig tried to sleep in the corner. But every time he closed his eyes, a big moo or a loud quack woke him up. 'I cannot sleep,' the pig said, and he started to cry. The other animals stopped. 'Why are you sad, pig?' asked the cow. 'Your noise is too loud,' the pig said. 'I just want a quiet nap.' The cow looked at the duck. The duck looked at the horse. They all felt bad. 'Let us take turns,' the cow said. 'I will moo first. Then the duck can quack. Then the pig can oink when he wakes up.' The animals nodded. That day, the farm was calm. Each animal made its sound one at a time. The pig slept a long, quiet nap. The barn grew so still that the warm sun covered the hay like a blanket. When he woke up, he said, 'Now it is my turn. Oink oink!' Everyone laughed. Old MacDonald smiled. 'Taking turns keeps the farm happy,' he said.

Mia and Ben sat in a little red boat on a long stream. They each held an oar. 'Let us go fast!' Ben said. He pulled his oar hard. The boat rocked and tipped. Mia almost fell out. 'Stop!' Mia said. 'You will tip us over.' 'Sorry,' Ben said. 'I just want to get there fast.' Mia took a slow breath. 'The stream knows the way,' she said. 'Let us row gently, gently.' They dipped their oars into the water. Pull, pull. The boat glided smooth and quiet down the stream. A fish swam by and waved its tail. A dragonfly rested on the side of the boat. 'This is nice,' Ben said. 'I did not see the fish before.' 'You were rowing too fast to see anything,' Mia said. Ben nodded. He dipped his oar in slow and soft. The boat glided on without a single rock. They rowed on, gently, gently. The boat did not rock. It moved like a leaf on the water. They saw tall green grass, a red flower, and a turtle on a log. 'Look at everything!' Ben said. 'Going slow is better.' Soon they came to the bend in the stream. There was the dock, right where they wanted to be. They tied up the boat and stepped out, safe and dry. 'We made it,' Mia said. 'Yes,' Ben said. 'Gently, gently got us here.' The next day, they rowed again. This time, Ben did not rush. He rowed gently, gently down the stream, and he saw every wonderful thing along the way.

There was a cat who had a little fiddle. She loved it more than anything. But when she played, it made a terrible screech. 'Screech! Screech!' went the fiddle. The dish covered its ears. The spoon hid under the table. 'I will never play well,' the cat said, and she put the fiddle down. 'Do not stop,' said the cow, who was jumping over the moon. 'I did not jump over the moon on my first try. I practiced every night.' The cat picked up the fiddle again. She played one note. Screech. She played it again. Still screech. But she did not stop. She played a little every single day. Day by day, the notes got softer. She played in the morning and she played at night. Her little paws learned the strings by heart. The screech went away, bit by bit. The dish came out from behind its hands. The spoon peeked out from under the table. One night, the cat played a whole song. It was slow and sweet. The notes floated up like little stars. The dish and the spoon began to dance together. 'Listen!' the dish said. 'That is music.' The cat smiled as she played. 'I practiced a little every day,' she said. 'And now my screech is a song.' The cow clapped her hooves. 'I told you,' she said. 'Practice turns a screech into a tune.' From that night on, the cat played a sweet song every evening. The dish and the spoon danced, and the cow jumped over the moon in time with the music.

Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet, eating her curds and whey. It was a warm, sunny day. She was very happy. All of a sudden, a small spider came and sat down beside her. Miss Muffet jumped up. She was so scared that she ran away, fast as she could go. 'Wait!' the spider called. 'Please come back. I will not hurt you.' Miss Muffet stopped far away. Her heart was beating fast. 'You scared me,' she said. 'You have so many legs.' 'I know,' the spider said in a soft voice. 'I have eight legs. That looks strange to some people. But I only wanted to sit with you. I am very small, and I have no friends.' Miss Muffet looked at the little spider. It did not move. It just sat there, very still and quiet. 'You only wanted to be my friend?' she asked. 'Yes,' the spider said. 'You looked kind.' Miss Muffet thought about it. She took a small step closer. Then another. She sat back down on her tuffet, a little bit away from the spider. 'You may sit with me,' she said. 'But please do not jump on me.' 'I promise,' the spider said. They sat together in the sun. Miss Muffet shared a tiny bit of her food with the spider. The spider told her funny things it had seen from up on the wall. 'You are nice,' Miss Muffet said. 'I am glad I came back.' 'Me too,' the spider said. 'A friend can come in a surprising shape.'

The wheels on the bus went round and round, all through the town. The bus was bright and yellow. Its door opened with a happy swish. At the first stop, a family got on. 'All aboard,' the driver said. The wipers went swish, swish, swish. At the next stop, a little dog got on with a girl. The dog wagged its tail. The horn went beep, beep, beep. The bus drove on. The people on the bus went bump, bump, bump as it rolled down the road. At the last stop, a slow old turtle was waiting by the sign. The turtle moved very, very slowly toward the door. 'Hurry up, turtle!' a boy called out. 'We want to go.' 'Be kind,' the driver said. 'We can wait for the turtle. Everyone gets a ride.' The driver turned off the engine. The whole bus sat quiet while the turtle climbed up, one slow step at a time. At last, the turtle was on board. 'Thank you for waiting,' the turtle said. 'My legs are old.' The boy's face turned a little red. 'I am sorry I rushed you,' he said. He moved over and gave the turtle a seat. The wheels went round and round again. The turtle smiled all the way to the last stop. 'This is the best bus in town,' the turtle said. 'It is,' the boy said. 'It is a bus that makes room for everyone.' And the wheels on the bus went round and round, all through the town, carrying happy friends home.

Mother Duck had five little ducklings. They were yellow and fluffy and very full of play. One sunny day, they went out to the pond. 'Stay close to me,' Mother Duck said. 'Do not wander far.' The five ducklings nodded. But the pond was so big and so pretty. One duckling saw a shiny bug and chased it. The others ran after. Soon all five were far, far from Mother Duck. When they looked up, they did not know where they were. 'Where is Mama?' one duckling asked. His voice shook. 'I am scared,' said another. 'We are lost.' 'Do not run around,' the biggest duckling said. 'If we stay together, Mama can find us. Let us call her.' So the five ducklings stood close together. 'Quack, quack!' they called. 'Quack, quack, quack!' Far away, Mother Duck heard them. She lifted her head and listened. Then she waddled toward the sound, as fast as her legs could go. The ducklings kept calling. They did not move from their spot. They held hands with their little wings and waited. At last, Mother Duck came around the tall grass. 'My babies!' she cried. 'I was so worried.' 'Mama!' the ducklings shouted. They ran to her and snuggled under her soft wings. 'I am so glad you stayed together,' Mother Duck said. 'That is how I found you.' The ducklings nodded. They held onto her as they walked back to the pond. They had learned a big lesson. Staying together is the best way to find your way home.

Jack was a quick little boy. He loved to run and jump and play. One day, he saw a tall candle on a table. It had a small, bright flame on top. 'I can jump over that candle,' Jack said. 'Watch me. I am so quick.' His friend Emma shook her head. 'That is not safe, Jack,' she said. 'You could knock it over and start a fire.' 'But I am nimble,' Jack said. 'I can jump high and quick.' 'Being quick does not stop a flame,' Emma said. 'Please do not do it. Let us move the candle somewhere safe first.' Jack looked at the flame. He thought about what Emma said. She was right. A fire was a big danger, and no one wanted that. 'Okay,' Jack said. 'You are right. I will not jump over a candle.' Jack and Emma blew out the flame. They moved the candle to a high shelf where no one could knock it over. Then they went outside to the soft, green grass. 'Now you can jump,' Emma said. 'There is no fire out here.' Jack took a running start. He jumped high over a big stick on the grass. Then he jumped over a small log. He jumped over and over, safe and sound. 'This is much better,' Jack said. 'I can be quick and safe at the same time.' 'Yes you can,' Emma said. 'And we still have our house and our candle.' Jack smiled. He had learned that being smart is better than showing off. Safe jumps are the best jumps of all.

There was a muffin man who lived on Drury Lane. Every morning, he baked a big tray of warm muffins. The whole town loved the smell. One day, he counted the muffins on his tray. There were ten. Then the baker's cart came by, and everyone came running to buy one. 'One muffin, please,' said the little girl. 'One for me,' said the old man with the cane. The muffin man sold his muffins one by one. Nine muffins went to nine happy people. Then a small boy came up, holding one coin. 'Do you have any muffins left?' the boy asked. 'I want to buy one for my sick grandma.' The muffin man looked at his tray. There was only one muffin left. It was the one he had saved for his own breakfast. He thought about his warm kitchen and his own empty plate. Then he thought about the sick grandma. 'Here you go,' the muffin man said. He gave the boy the last muffin. 'This one is on me. Give it to your grandma with my love.' The boy's face lit up. 'Thank you!' he said, and he ran home fast. The muffin man walked home with an empty tray and an empty tummy. But his heart felt full. That night, the boy came back with his grandma. She was feeling better, and she had baked him a little loaf of bread to say thank you. 'You gave away your own breakfast,' she said. 'That was very kind.' The muffin man smiled. 'A full heart is better than a full tray.'

Three little mice lived in a big house. One mouse could not see well. One mouse could not hear well. One mouse had a sore leg and could not run fast. Every night, they smelled cheese from across the wide room. They wanted it so much. But none of them could get there alone. 'I cannot see the way,' the first mouse said. 'I cannot hear the cat coming,' the second mouse said. 'I cannot run fast,' the third mouse said. They sat and thought. Then the first mouse smiled. 'I cannot see, but I can hear well. I will listen for the cat.' 'I cannot hear, but I can see well,' the second mouse said. 'I will watch the way and point.' 'I cannot run, but I can carry things,' the third mouse said. 'I will hold the cheese when we get there.' So the three mice joined hands. The mouse who could see pointed the way. The mouse who could hear listened for the cat. The mouse with the sore leg walked slowly in the middle, and his friends matched his pace. Step by step, they crossed the wide room together. The cat never knew they were there. At last, they reached the cheese. 'We did it!' they cheered in soft little voices. The third mouse picked up the cheese, and they all walked back together, slow and safe. That night, the three mice shared a big dinner of cheese. 'None of us could do it alone,' the first mouse said. 'But together, we are strong,' the second mouse said. 'And together, we always will be,' the third mouse said.

There was a little teapot who sat on a shelf. Next to her sat a big, fancy teapot with silver paint. The big teapot was used for every tea party. 'I am too small,' the little teapot said. 'No one ever picks me.' 'Small is not bad,' said the sugar bowl. 'Small things can do big jobs.' The little teapot did not believe it. She watched the big teapot get filled with hot tea and carried to the table, day after day. One day, the family had a big tea party. Many guests came. The big teapot was filled to the very top. It was so heavy that when the child tried to lift it, she could not. 'It is too heavy,' the child said. 'What will we do?' Then the child saw the little teapot on the shelf. 'You are just the right size,' she said. She lifted the little teapot with one hand. It was easy. They filled the little teapot with hot tea. The little teapot felt warm and proud. She poured tea for every single guest. Her little spout worked perfectly. Not one drop spilled. 'What a perfect little teapot,' one guest said. 'She pours better than the big one,' said another. The little teapot glowed with joy. She had poured for the whole party, all by herself. 'See?' said the sugar bowl. 'I told you. Small things can do big jobs.' 'You were right,' the little teapot said. 'I am small, but I have a big job to do.' From that day on, the little teapot sat at the front of the shelf. And she poured the tea at every single party.

It was Saturday. Leo and Ava wanted to play outside. They had big plans. But when they woke up, the sky was gray. Rain fell on the window. Tap, tap, tap. 'Rain, rain, go away,' Leo said. 'Come again another day.' 'We cannot play now,' Ava said with a sigh. 'It is too wet.' They sat by the window and watched the rain fall. It looked cold and sad. The puddles grew bigger and bigger in the yard. Then Dad came in with two pairs of boots and two bright coats. 'Who says you cannot play?' he said. 'Put these on.' Leo and Ava looked at each other. They pulled on their boots and zipped up their coats. They ran outside into the rain. Splash! Leo jumped in a big puddle. Splash! Ava jumped in too. The water flew up like little diamonds. It was so much fun. They made a boat from a leaf and watched it sail down the gutter. They caught raindrops on their tongues. They danced in the rain and laughed out loud. 'This is the best day ever!' Ava shouted. 'The rain is not sad at all,' Leo said. 'It is fun.' They played until their coats were shiny with water. When they came inside, Mom had warm towels and hot cocoa ready. 'Rain, rain, please stay,' Leo sang. 'We want to play some more today.' 'The rain did not ruin our day,' Ava said. 'It made it better.' And Leo agreed. A rainy day can be a happy day, if you just put on your boots.