walking with a walk that is measured and slow
Was thinking of poetry all week.
Shel Silverstein poetry to be exact.
So, thought I would share one of my favorites by him.
I applied to a program before I wound up at the Farm--a radio program in Alaska--and part of the application process was doing a tape recorded reading of something so that the radio head had some sense of how your voice would sound on the air. I actually read this poem...a random pick at the time. For some reason my mind slips back to this poem quite often.
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.
Also, welcome, welcome!! I am amazed that people like to read, or choose to follow my blog! So, thanks all for following me along on this crazy ride. And especially a warm welcome to my new follower Missy!
Shel Silverstein poetry to be exact.
So, thought I would share one of my favorites by him.
I applied to a program before I wound up at the Farm--a radio program in Alaska--and part of the application process was doing a tape recorded reading of something so that the radio head had some sense of how your voice would sound on the air. I actually read this poem...a random pick at the time. For some reason my mind slips back to this poem quite often.
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.
Also, welcome, welcome!! I am amazed that people like to read, or choose to follow my blog! So, thanks all for following me along on this crazy ride. And especially a warm welcome to my new follower Missy!
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