My favorite poet

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 side walk 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 side-walk ends.
                                   -Shel Silverstein