random thing that rymes (believed to be a poem)

 where the sidewalk ends

there is a place where the sidewalk ends

 and before the streets begin,

 and there the grass grows soft and white, 

 and there the sun glows crimson bright,

 and the moon-bird rests from his flight

 to cool 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 a 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