"Unhandle me!" she said,
And he's still puzzled by this.
Then came the red and white roses,
and with them there came thorns,
And black-string hopes - a flute and a lute.
"Unmask me!" he guessed,
and he's still moved by this.
Then at times he goes flowing,
at others, stalled, he stands still.
And he dreams and he wakes -
frightened! deluded! - unhandled.

29Jul13