Deft Leonardo slowed his pace,
Uncertain how to draw her face.
Her smile, paint it as he would,
Was sure to be misunderstood.
The smile smacked of mystery,
Of secrets lost to history;
What brushstrokes could his art equate
To shed light on that opaque trait?
What caused that pleased indulgent look,
What clever plans filled up her book?
What goals did Mona Lisa seek,
What did her cryptic gaze bespeak?
If Leonardo were to tell,
If he explained his ideas well,
We still would fail to get, or find
A clue to what was on her mind.