The Art World knows her face,
and, for certain, her smile;
a smile sad, enigmatic, constrained.
So I read, with some interest,
of a copy that that’s thought
to share an author one and the same.

The provenance of the piece is not clear;
Some detect the Master’s own style.
Others contend an apprentice’s fingers
transcribed the work like a file.

The dispute will continue, for years
I suspect. The work will be x-rayed for clues
If it turns out to be Leonardo’s own work,
I t will certainly be front page news.

He carried the original wherever he went.
He was proud of this work, I am sure.
In a long life of work there would be time enough
to copy this famed portraiture.

I look on it now: She is modest, demure,
her lips bear the hint of a smile.
She’s a thin coat of oil on poplar wood,
done in his unmistakable style.

Are you a copy or are you for real?
Dear Lady, refined and reserved,
in you was the hand of the Master at work?
Mona Lisa’s not saying a word.