Expect a most agreeable letter, for not being overburdened with subject (having nothing at all to say), there shall be no
check to my genius from beginning to end.
--Jane Austen
how should another know your mind?
And there was a beautiful view
But nobody could see.
Cause everybody on the island
Was saying: Look at me! Look at me!
--Laurie Anderson
will he discern what quickens you?
Wednesday, March 17, 2010 @ 4:21 AM
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.