It starts off with these superficial scales:
They come off easily; I watch them fall
Into the water, washed in streams away.
But soon, although my nails scratch away
And wish by force of will to make this fall –
The outward garb of inner greed; these scales,
Practised and rehearsed for years – all fall…
My fingers by themselves can’t tear away
The dragon’s truth carved deep beneath these scales;
Only your hands can make my scales fall away.
The Consolations of Writing 