Marie Thérèse Walter, an imaginative tale.

Marie Thérèse lifted up her golden hair
And placed a clip on the left to hold back a fringe.
She came through the city of Paris, in the hot sunshine wearing simple sandals
And a Summer dress.
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At the door of her lover's house she paused,
Wondering wistfully how he would greet her.
Would she find him laden with canvas
Impatient for her love or her pose.
He was an artist, fabulously famous,
Married, with son, to a noble woman.
She was his mistress at seventeen.
The thing from which he drew inspiration.
That moved her to tears.
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On a street in Paris whilst shopping,
Browsing the Galleries Lafayette,
They had met by chance in an instance,
Her face attacking his skin.
Tall, athletic and graceful,
A beauty with Grecian profile,
Fascinated, he was, by her movement,
The space between her eyes.

Unhindered by his pronouncement,
She offered to model there in;
And so began the beginning,
Of changes,
That altered art from within.
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The price of art is expensive,
Its development claims many lives,
For Marie Therese it was lonely,
After Picasso said goodbye.
She lived with their daughter,
Maya, born out of love,
But ten years of giving,
Only made her sad.
After he died,
She knew, her time had come.
Knowing the world was empty
With his power gone.

Love Mary xxxx