Forgive me for posting twice. I really wanted to honor Shel Silverstein who for me evokes the best of my childhood memories. I received a copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends at my elementary school graduation as a prize for reading the most books of any student in school (It was a tie actually). I wrote a note to myself on the inside cover. It spoke of me growing up to be a writer.
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.
Funny that this poem highlights the difference between childhood and adulthood.