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The Mask

The Mask

Always a mask

Held in the slim hand whitely

Always she had a mask before her face —

Truly the wrist

Holding it lightly

Fitted the task:

Sometimes however

Was there a shiver,

Fingertip quiver,

Ever so slightly —

Holding the mask?

For years and years and years I wondered

But dared not ask

And then —

I blundered,

looked behind the mask,

To find Nothing —

She had no face.

She had become

Merely a hand

Holding a mask With grace.

​ —Author unknown