Where the Sidewalk Ends

We dug out the ol' Shel Silverstein Where the Sidewalk Ends book this week. We had read some of the poems to Katie when she was younger, but Andy had not yet heard them. The book has been quite a hit with the kids, especially "Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too". Andy finds the concept of three guys in a flying shoe so hysterical that he cant stop giggling for about 15 minutes after the story has been read. This incites some mania in Katie as well, and is making the whole bedtime story reading experience more than a little rambunctious.

The kids usually select the stories/poems based on the pictures along side. Some of the pages however, don't have any pictures. I was flipping through these overlooked pages after the kids went to bed, and noticed one poem that resonated with me, and made me feel a little younger than I normally do each day, and I thought I would share it with you all...

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 go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.