There lived a man, a crooked man
Whose shadow far did it trail
He walked with aching joints
And clumsy footfalls ever so frail

The man who seemed to have prized his solitude
This company he could never appreciate
He had made this journey in a futile attempt
To flee from his grounded mate

The man had cursed and hurled stones at it
He shouted with his old, failing voice
Made known that he didn't want to be stalked
He begged to be granted his choice

But the man whose eyes were used and grey
He never could see very well
We see him berating his own crooked shadow
For he was old and never could tell

He hastened his pace but his shadow still stuck
As long as his feet touched the ground
At times he would rest, at the foot or the crest
Breathing heavily without a sound

Know this man, the crooked man
Whose clothes were tattered and torn
See this man, the crooked man
Whose body was tired and worn