Strange Shadows - Shadows and Substance - Gertrude Abercrombie 1950

It's all me How I perceptualise I place the chalice of expectation within reach Then plead with my shadow for just one sip I myself project the watchers, to create my own unease Always completely lost to the now No sense of what comes after My inner shadows arms flail Yet I hold wisdom in my hand The hand I hold inexplicably outstretched If only the composite pieces could merge Instead of the surrealistic dissection Imperfections somehow normalised Time rests on my side, just But it also stands still To hover in perpetual yearning The eyes of wisdom never blink This moment is 27 years before my death Now the clock is my gravestone The epitaph reads 'later' And the owl remains Still with unshared wisdom, kept to himself