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.
____________________________

I have always loved this collection of poetry and drawings. I love the unexpectedness of every page. The randomness of the thoughts, the stark simple drawings that capture each poem so well.

I love all of that....in a book. In life, not so much. When I thought about this book again, this week, I was thinking about Holly. Its been a "bad sleep" few weeks. I felt like I was at the end of the sidewalk with her. We've tried everything. But until these darn teeth come in, I guess we will "walk with a walk that is measured and slow". I mean, sleep deprived.

But then last night wasn't so bad. I only hope, I don't find this at our house one day:

SISTER FOR SALE

One sister for sale!
One sister for sale!
One crying and spying young sister for sale!
I'm really not kidding,
So who'll start the bidding?
Do I hear a dollar?
A nickel?
A penny?
Oh, isn't there, isn't there, isn't there any
One kid who will buy this old sister for sale,
This crying and spying young sister for sale?