Sierra V. Fedorko

I don’t even speak.

But she hears, Copy me.

She laughs at my shadow.

I see so much more.

A little girl who wants to be.

Grown up, just like me.

I hear her little voice.

Five years old today.

She says, Look! Can you see it?

I’m walking in your shadow.

She giggles in that girlish way.

As my shadow swallows her.

Because I am bigger, more grown up.

And she is watching–not just me, but us.

My shadow is the afternoon.

For I am just eighteen.

And her shadow is the morning.

Perhaps, yours is the night.

But morning, noon, or night.

Your shadow only casts.

For minutes in time.

And then it will be gone.

But little Shadows copy ours.

What does your Shadow say?

Because I can guarantee.

That a five year old is watching you.

She says, Look! Can you see it?

I’m walking in your shadow!

She says, I wanna be just like you.

See, I can do it too.

And Little Shadows copy you.

Even when you’re gone.

I wanna be just like you. 

Watch me, I can do it too.

 Little Shadow