We know much about our reflection,
but what do we know about our shadow?
Of the two, I think Shadow is the most
faithful, the more noble and wise, either
following close behind or carefully leading,
Reflection is a bit shallow, a bit of a liar,
never showing me how I really appear
to others; turning me around and saying
Oh yes, this is who you are! Really!
But Shadow walks silently with me
without presuming anything.
Eleven returns and she is sullen,
Once more and she is asleep,
And you whom notice her at her white age
To be almost dead and in pale life
Have not looked within her.
The time like you, like I
We are most inwardly alive.