the children, they know

The first poetry i ever remember reading is from Shel Silverstein's book "Where the Sidewalk Ends". I loved the silly poetry and the amazing illustrations. I remember connecting specifically with the poem of the same name as the book. Something about it made me think of dusk and playing in the alley of my block. It was a small town alley, a rutted dirt road behind all of the houses with gravel here and there and lots of great puddles. It was overgrown with weeds and most of the houses were separated by fences. But those fences had holes, and created secret passageways. The alley was filled with mysteries, secrets, witches, flowers, fairies and bugs!  The poem made me feel as though, as a child, I knew of things adults could never know. I was privy to a secret world that grown ups didn't care to see. I had gone to where the sidewalk ends, and kept going to see what adventures lie ahead. 

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.

Shel Silverstein

p.s. G and Suz- remember how terrible the sidewalks on our block were growing up? Trying to roller skate and somehow make it over all the cracks, roller walking over the brick "sidewalk". Is it still like that? Or do jerod and kj just avoid the Garrison's corner like we did?