Shadow, when did you grow so aloof?
No longer looking up to me
when I turned round, looking down to see
your small grin, the only proof
that what I said to her, to him, to them
might cause that tattered rift to mend.
Yet I need not worry much
I am sure we will meet again
Not the polished piece of colored pane—no, not as such.
I will go or wait your return
I will not mock or censure
I will do nothing to condemn
so long as you recur—
again and again
my funny, fickle friend.
© Fae Hilscher