Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black

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 pit 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

I wish I had payed more attention to this guy when I was younger. I have one of his books, and I could've swore I had Where the Sidewalk Ends; alas, I'm pretty sure I do not.

I recently read The Doll House by Ibsen for English and I'm not going to lie, for the first time in the class, I did not like what we were doing. The play really turned around in the end though so it payed off, I guess, and now that I know what the play is about fully, and what happens, I can appreciate it more when I read it again.

Yo' friend,
Alex