Poet Streets

   The traveler and the poet met in the middle of a road, each coming from opposite directions. The traveler said, “Hello.” The poet said, “Greetings on this fair day.” The traveler said where is the next town?”  The poet said, “a quarter mile past the Maple tree, left in its crimson shade down a terra cotta road in the time it takes to sing one verse of Mr. Tambourine man.”

 Songs of along the Glitter Highway