Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

A Whispering And Watery Norfolk Sound Telling Of All The Moonlit Reeds Around.

What The Londoner Sees In His Mind's Eye Is That Cluster Of Towers And Pinnacles Seen From Pentonville Hill And Outlined Against A Foggy Sunset, And The Great Arc Of Barlow's Train Shed Gaping To Devour Incoming Engines, And The Sudden Burst Of Exuberant Gothic Of The Hotel Seen From Gloomy Judd Street.

One Mark Of Good Verse Is Surprise

Ludlow....is Probably The Loveliest Town In England With Its Hill Of Georgian Houses Ascending From The River Teme To The Great Tower Of The Cross-shaped Church, Rising Behind A Classic Market Building.

Too Many People In The Modern World View Poetry As A Luxury, Not A Necessity Like Petrol. But To Me It's The Oil Of Life.