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
Every 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