I have a little shadow
That goes in and out with me.
And what can be the use of him
Is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me
From the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me,
When I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him
Is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children,
Which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller
Like an Indian rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little
That there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion
Of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me
In every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me,
He's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie
As that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early,
Before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew
On every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow,
Like an arrant sleepyhead,
Had stayed home behind me
And was fast asleep in bed.
Robert Louis Stevenson