There is a place where the sidewalk ends <br />and before the street begins, <br />and there the grass grows soft and white, <br />and there the sun burns crimson bright, <br />and there the moon-bird rests from his flight <br />to cool in the peppermint wind. <br /> <br />Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black <br />and the dark street winds and bends. <br />Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow <br />we shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow <br />and watch where the chalk-white arrows go <br />to the place where the sidewalk ends. <br /> <br />Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, <br />and we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go, <br />for the children, they mark, and the children, they know, <br />the place where the sidewalk ends.<br /><br />Sheldon Allan Silverstein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-the-sidewalk-ends-4/
