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
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