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.
— Shel Silverstein, Where the Sidewalk Ends (1974)
Hello Friends,
Like the sidewalk, this too must end. Thirty days. Thirty poets. Thirty poems.
Thank you for humoring me in this celebration of National Poetry Month. If a particular poem or two from this month stuck with you, and you feel inspired to dive deeper, here are some places to start. You can also find all of my poem-a-days at meetmein811.blogspot.com.
— Ellen
Poems by Shel Silverstein were also featured for Poem-a-Day April 21, 2007 and Poem-a-Day April 18, 2011.