My Little Shadow

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My Little Shadow

Bright yellow eyes stare at me from a corner.
They wait
and then they rush off leaving a smoke gray trail.
Another corner to peer around.
Is it a game you want?
Watching,
back arching,
tail held high,
and the Shadow is off again.
Waiting around another post, wall, or door
For me to resume play.

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Poetry is not the expression of personality but an escape from personality.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

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