Grace is awakened, yet gently,

By the cheery sound of the night-watchman

As he passes by her window, his work done

 

Below, the gas-blue flame of the street lamp slowly pulses.

Its unheard siren-call beckoning the powerless moths

To one final, carefree dance

 

And another day dawns

On Martha Street, London, E1

 

Slowly, Grace embraces the lingering chill night-air

Spurred on by the fresh-bread smells

Wafting from the kitchen below.

 

Her world sucks in its first breath.

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker

At work on this mid-summer morn

 

All is snug and familiar

On Martha Street, London, E1

 

Children race past under caps of cloth

Laces loose, knees grazed, not a care

Save for arriving before the mistress's bell

 

And Grace smiles to herself, and thanks her

God for this wonderful life, as miles away

Two shots are fired in the streets of Sarajevo

 

The 28th of June 1914

 

Life would be forever changed

On Martha Street, London, E1