Little Mona Lisa

Could it be mere dislike
or the thought of
why he is away?

Or could it be the strain
of your Imagination upon
your Topsy-Turvey head?

How can it be so easy
to turn that look of
question into apprehension?

Yet to catch quality
with every stroke
of hand

You put your soul upon
the person you haver framed
While no honest man's womanhood
can be brought forward by truth
for truth in itself would cudgel
him like a dog

Neither faith nor truth
would mean more to a foul-mouthed man
than a burning land to a king
And will time still defend you
when tongues defy your smile?

Your flatter will always
be shone over what words
have destroyed...

Oh, Little Mona Lisa