Skin reflecting sin
Where do I begin?
Even her hair’s so fair
With glasses on
She becomes a song
The epitome of wildfire flair

She makes a background smile
Never ever moving all the while
Making a flash soft as fur
As Winter becomes Spring
The past becomes a thing
Because Mona Lisa’s got nothing on her

Mesmerizing forever
A creation all too clever
Statuesque causing commotion
From where did this soul come
When she’s been right there, under our thumb?
Giving rise to self-promotion

The heavens make it clear
Her beauty brings a tear
Whereas envy can’t concur
The past found its muse
Repeating it just to confuse
Because Mona Lisa’s got nothing on her