How the Donna's Holiday House Began
I bought myself a ticket on
the Early Express.
I was destined for Modesto (but some how ended up in HoneyBrook!)
When I met my little buddy, he said, "How do you do?"
I said, "Fine friend!" Then he told me that he had a surprise.
But what I didn't know I finally surmised
He was standing there holding the key to our holiday hotel.
Where the Sidewalk Ends
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.
~ Shel Silverstein