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 sidewalks ends.
-Shel Silverstein

It's really late here, I can't sleep, and I was going to post this tomorrow anyways, so you're getting a good one late at night.

I love this poem, and this whole book. I randomly found it on the shelf at the little Co-Op school I help out at. It's full of fun little poems that make you laugh and a few that really make you think. This is one of those that does both. I don't know what Shel was getting at when he wrote this, but I like to think he was talking about going to heaven someday. That's where life's "sidewalk" will surely end. The walk that is "measured and slow" sounds to me a lot like walking in righteousness, and it's the type of walk I want to walk here, in this life, to bring some joy and light to the place "where the smoke blows black."

So if you get a chance pick up a copy of this book. It's really great. I'll leave you with an interesting note about Shel and a few more little poems of his. Interesting fact: Shel Silverstein actually wrote country music! He is the author of one of Johnny Cash's major hits, "A Boy Named Sue." He also did some recording with the great Jerry Reed and even greater Waylon Jennings. I never would've guessed that.

"My Beard"
My beard grows to my toes,
I never wear no clothes,
I wraps my hair
Around my bare,
And down the road I goes.

"My Rules"
If you want to marry me, here's what you'll have to do:
You must learn how to make a perfect chicken-dumpling stew.
And you must sew my holey socks,
And soothe my troubled mind,
And develop the knack for scratching my back,
And keep my shoes spotlessly shined.
And while I rest you must rake up the leaves,
And when it is hailing and snowing
You must shovel the walk... and be still when I talk,
And-hey-where are you going?