Incline your head, passer-by, and peruse what you see. With some danger from passing perambulators. Not to mention incontinent sparrows and pigeons. here is a long thin coiling around. It isn't a centipede, but an unrhymed poem - Free verse at that! What is it there for - Only to prove what a cultured place. This town of ours is - isn't it? (John Heath Stubbs) While looking for a coffee shop at Notting Hill, few months back, at Stanley Gardens I found this lovely coal hole just at the pavement of what seems to have been a antique shop. There lonely was this poem waiting to be admired. But only today I found out that a very artist group came across an idea and succeeded to complete. PAVEMENT POETRY is worthy to have a look and also they provide you with the map of the others poems, or should I say coal holes?
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