Where Children Never Cry Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

I dreamed again,
about Big Ben,
how London reeled
its fate seemed sealed.

There was a bridge
up near a ridge
which you could climb
if you had time.

'What is the use',
I asked sleep drunk,
of the rotund and
helpful monk.

'It leads you to
the golden shoe,
you slip inside,
go for a ride.'

'Where to, my friend,
where will they send
me from the shoe
endorsed by you? '

'Please understand,
it's Yonderland,
a land so free
where you can be

where children thrive
truly alive
where they may sigh
but never cry.