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