At Harold's Cross this morning

I saw a boy coated in light,

in a yellow jacket so luminous

he made dark November bright.

Like beacons I saw more coming,

walking with mothers and prams,

some in seats on the back of bikes

others cycled, some skated, some ran.

They shone through the gloom

of side roads and of the leafless park,

and coming across the canal bridge

they made swans look dark.

A place that once housed orphans

is now besieged with joy,

children emerge from the darkness,

clothed in light, every girl, every boy.

Arriving from every direction

at St Clare's gate they cluster around.

I would love to be an eye in the sky,

see that yellow star shine on the ground.