Surely this is the same shadow
My shadow was getting tired of same-oh, same-oh
Don’t you have any other ambitions? Dreams? Hobbies?
I listened with half an ear, and no mind, not caring really.
I wanted to do what I wanted to do.
By noon that persistent voice was getting snarly and gnarly.
I was sick of hearing her; and she was sick of me.
Was she still following me around? I turned and saw her on the walk.
Tried to outrun her, and she laughed.
She followed me uphill into my garden.
We should prune that bush, she said, in a persnickety way.
Since when had she turned into my mother?
I was getting worn out by her demands.
Has she always been this needy? Or have I never stopped to hear her?
I marvel that she is bothering me for the first time now.
Surely this is the same shadow I have always worn.
Right?
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