Where the Sidewalk Ends…

Where the Sidewalk Ends

Yesterday, I took Finley out for his evening walk. We usually walk until we reach the point where the sidewalk splits and you have to cross the street if you want to stay on the sidewalk. As we were approaching the part where it splits, I thought to myself, we made it to where the sidewalk ends – time to turn around. It also made me think of the book and poem titled “Where The Sidewalk Ends”, by Shel Silverstein:

“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.

Source: Silverstein, Shel. “Where the Sidewalk Ends”. Poets. Academy of American Poets, n.d. Web 12 August 2013. http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/20541

Where the Sidewalk Ends

I used to enjoy reading Shel Silverstein’s poems when I was younger as most of them were fun and imaginative. One poem in particular that I liked and still remember is:


  by Shel Silverstein

“I cannot go to school today,”
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
“I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I’m going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I’ve counted sixteen chicken pox
And there’s one more–that’s seventeen,
And don’t you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut–my eyes are blue–
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I’m sure that my left leg is broke–
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button’s caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,
My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb.
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is–what?
What’s that? What’s that you say?
You say today is. . .Saturday?
G’bye, I’m going out to play!”
Source: Silverstein, Shel. “Sick”. Poets. Academy of American Poets, n.d. Web 12 August 2013. http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/16480
Funny how certain things you see or hear trigger those memories you have tucked away in your mind.
And since it’s Monday…I think I’ll go out and play…in the kitchen. I just got some fresh peaches from the Farmer’s Market so I’m working on a recipe to share with y’all. If all goes well in the kitchen, tune in Wednesday for the recipe!