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. 

by Shel Silverstein

Good morning!

I stumbled upon this old picture of my brother Michael and me when we were itty bitty and on our way to school.  (Nice backpack, Mike!) It reminded me of the poem "Where the Sidewalk Ends."  Isn't Shel Silverstein the greatest?  What was your favorite childhood poem?

Today, I feel grateful for my health, family, and friends.  Life is so very precious.



Love you all, and have a top-notch morning!

xoxo,
Taylor