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