Victorian Terraces Poem by C Richard Miles

The peeling paintwork partly seems to mask
The lordly hauteur of what now are flats,
Crudely converted from grand mansions, which
Once homed more-well-off folk, the semi-rich
Who lived in ersatz elegance in Stamford Hill
Where now more varied voices vie to fill
The air with accents of far-distant tongues.
Though then pea-souper smogs stung eyes and lungs,
These tumbling terraces perhaps reflect
The days when children showed their due respect
To others, as I sadly stare at flowers
In memory of a gang-stabbed youth and pause
To think how these mean streets, where blood was spilt,
Have changed some hundred years since they were built.