A Grey, Grey Day Down Whitechapel Way Poem by C Richard Miles

It was cold, cold, cold on a grey, grey day
As I wandered the streets down Whitechapel way
Wondering whether to go or whether to stay
On the cold, cold streets on that morning so grey.

I stopped to look down on the grey, grey ground
And suddenly I spotted something bright and round
A lost lonely penny was what I had found
But I wished that instead it had been a pound.

It was greed, not need, that had caused my thought
And I pondered whether I really ought
To curse the luck that my wandering had brought
And whether a lesson had been harshly taught.

I looked in the window at a grey, grey face
That seemed to have lost touch with the human race
And I thought, there go I, except for God’s grace,
Which had kept me from taking that sad one’s place.

But I peered and stared at that face once again
Reflected in the glass of the shop windowpane
As I huddled to seek shelter from the cold, cold rain
And hope it wasn’t I who I saw, but in vain.

So the grey, grey face that was there was me
As old and cold as it ever could be
I reeled from the shock of what I could see
But couldn’t shake off the desire to get free.

So I quickened my steps and straightened my back,
Got out of that place like Spring Heeled Jack
And decided that day to get back on track
And look for the light instead of the black.

With a warm, warm smile, coldness faded away
As I strolled up the streets down Whitechapel way
Since a change of mind brought recovery’s ray
To a warm, warm heart on a grey, grey day.