midnight bike ride

[johnsinger]

out across the street and past the corner station down by rows of sleeping houses the sidewalk ends at a stretch of grass and baseball diamonds where shafts of hazy orange light slowly sink from streetlamps hidden in the fog. the city park was silent except for the sound of tires rubbing up against the frame. i stopped and sat on a bench and

Comments

[beauty_in_prose]

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.