‘Shadows crisscross, streets do too
Like delicate web interwoven
Around these young and searching two
The pattern it does show them.

And like a forest’s trees the stone
Rises up and skyward
Through the night the day has glowed
With the rising sun’s orange fire

From where the bell’s last echo fades
Time clicks and ticks and runs away
And there the little beggar’s gone
The sweet and lovely morning: Dawn’