Supple Mask

A hart pants—aesthetic brooks; and diamond swans take a
Look; and Santa smiles—to relish joy: the face of girls,
And mannish boys. Indeed the year—a kiss of bliss, despite
The heart, a longing wish; and mothers feel, a silent gong;

And children dance—the perfect song. I sit and pause, and
Pause and sit: I gander life, and take a sip; and solemn
Love, the chi of chants: despite the mind—raves and rants.
A picture torn, the year has come; and nothing’s new, a

Heart has run; and gallop love, a season fair: unless the soul—
Webs the flare; and subtle wit, the gift of charm: to grip the
Mind, and nudge the arm; and whistle blue, the thief of time:
The chime of life: a strife divine; but moment soft, the veil
Of fey: a tender touch: the fruits of May; and thus the hurt—
A clump of grass; and thus the warmth—a supple mask.