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This isn't one of my poems but it's a poem by shel silverstein, and it's one of my favorites
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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 winds,
let us leave the 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 in slow,
and watch where the chalkwhite arrows go,
to the place where the sidewalk ends,

yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured in slow,
and we'll watch where the chalk white arrows go,
for the children they mark,
the children they know,
the place where the sidewalk ends.