conjure a memory, feels like someone else's

Art:

  

John Casey- reminds me of Shel Silverstein.

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.