They Called Me To the Country of Poetry

Late, One evening They called me To the Country of Poetry. They said, "Come quickly! If not, No tickets will remain." The streets of the Country of Poetry Have flowers on the pavements. They smell So distinctively. Travellers pass along the streets. They disappear, Leaving something scribbled on a scrap of paper... Some odd writings. Some people read them Others throw them away. But they are inexhaustible Those odd scribblings. Travellers come To the Country of Poetry. And sometimes are unable to procure A return ticket. They drift along The narrow streets And pick up flowers With unusual formations. Tonight, There's a free Ticket available. A one-way ticket. I salute the ones who stay In the Country of Poetry, For it's the country of The lonely, poor and peculiar. Unfortunately, It's not possible for you To enter - Unless you really are a poet