Where The Sidewalk Ends

We have decided to take five or ten,
Before we return to writing again.
My poor brain deserves a much-needed break.
There's only so much work a girl can take.
I wasted some time by surfing around,
And I had to smile with what I had found.
My favourite poet as a child and teen,
A gentleman known as Shel Silverstein.
His words would capture my imagination.
Re-reading them again brings pure elation.
So now I'd like to share with you, my friends,
A special poem called "Where the Sidewalk Ends".


Where the Sidewalk Ends


There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends. 

www.shelsilverstein.com