She shuns the hand of man, yet mourns alone,
Displays her charms, then spurns the glancing eye;
Declares she speaks in truth’s unvarnished tone—
While rouge and powder hint, perhaps, a lie.
She needs a glass to peer beyond the face,
A faithful lens to show the soul entire,
Not one that flatters, veils, or would erase
The dissonance ‘twixt candor and desire.
O masked deceit, your tears may well persuade,
But virtue’s claim grows hollow in disguise;
That purity you oft have sought portrayed,
When vows are praised, distrust is quick to rise.
By candlelight your honeyed mask beguiles;
But sunlight shows what every tongue reviles.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.