Only the call of a costermonger
turned her around in the lonely street
from the press of gloom that rushed to meet her.
Words he'd said and the look he'd flung her
buried the joy of the times he'd rung her
saying she made his life complete.
Only the call of a costermonger
turned her around. In the lonely street,
something of pain, of pride, of hunger
made of his voice a wand to beat
out from her mind ideas of defeat,
leaving her lighter, strangely younger.
Only the call of a costermonger
turned her around in the lonely street.
