Classic Poem

When the last of gloaming's gone,
When the world is drowned in Night,
Then swims up the great round Moon,
Washing with her borrowed light
Twig, stone, grass-blade — pin-point bright —
Every tinest thing in sight.

Then, on tiptoe,
Off go I
To a white-washed
Wall near by,
Where, for secret
Company
My small shadow
Waits for me.

Still and stark,
Or stirring — so ,
All I'm doing
He'll do too.
Quieter than
A cat he mocks
My walks, my gestures,
Clothes and looks.

I twist and turn,
I creep, I prowl,
Likewise does he,
The crafty soul,
The Moon for lamp,
And for music, owl.

" Sst! " I whisper,
" Shadow, come!"
No answer:
He is blind and dumb.
Blind and dumb,
And when I go,
The wall will stand empty,
White as snow.