May 17: Thunder and Lightning, Shel Silverstein, "Where the Sidewalk Ends"

I don't have a whole lot of energy.  There is thunder and lightning.  Rain slapping the window behind me.  Darkness in the house.  Thoughts of my brother.

For some reason, there is one poem running through my mind.  A poem that I learned as a kid.  I used to read it over and over.  I always found it really comforting.

Saint Marty shares it tonight.  For his brother.

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.