A white shadow moves down the old stairs and waits   
So quietly I barely feel it there unless I move too close   
And am drawn to remember some faint shade of a familiar face.   
What are years to you? Ah, you understand and share my tears.   
You must have known the warmth of other hands and the   
Warmth of lips,   
And the sun spinning a spring morning damp and waiting --   
Yes. You see I cannot come, I have my cleaning,   
And some last things to find -- before.   

Our childhood tears have wandered still   
Before our years and waited till   
We meet them now in other fears.   
The shadow there upon the mirror --   
I've moved the curtain where it hid the sun   
But the shadow stays and I see no one   
Behind or before, or my own face.   

Ah, wait till I remember where I knew you --   
And I can dare to go to sleep.