Day 187 – It Isn’t the End


It Isn't the End

Day 187

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

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.

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4 thoughts on “Day 187 – It Isn’t the End

  1. The end of one thing is always the beginning of something else, it seems.

    Love Silverstein! Both the snarky version and the one that wrote really lovely and tender and empathetic visions, like this, from a warm childlike perspective. Such a great poem.

    And I love the perspective of the photo too! Such a fitting contrast between the shadowy frame of where you place us and the blazing beauty of the view outward from it.

    • I did this pavilion from 20 different angles, some of them probably much better in composition, but this is the one I kept going back to. I deleted every other photo and didn’t regret it.

    • Thanks, Brandon. Our copy of Where the Sidewalk Ends is pretty tattered from the many readings I did for the kids when they were small – now it sits practically forgotten by them – they are more interested in Patterson and Meyer now.

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