I hear its tiny voices
climbing the hill to meet me
excited
curious
happy
i call out to it
good morning!
and its voices reply
good morning
hello
happy Friday
I step aside
and small legs and arms and bodies roped together pass by
a kiddie centipede
and a question
why does he have that white stick
and the silent reply
Because I’m not roped to anything
tio stib
there is nothing
that so beguiles
as when a child looks up
and smiles
tio stib,
2015, 2018
You might also enjoy: Dirty Snow, Seattle Sun
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.
by Shel Silverstein, 1974
When I start slipping into seriousness, I turn to Shel Silverstein to lighten up. Reading his poems with kids is better than blowing bubbles on B.A.R.T. For more fun, try this link.
