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.
Este es una de la primera poesia yo siempre leer. Lo es por qué me gusta poesia muy mucho.
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