Such a small portrait,
with your mysterious smile,
Oh, Mona, your meaning,
I contemplate for a while.
Your creator, Leonardo,
was a genius of a man,
what was he thinking, Mona,
when his brush was in hand?
often hotly speculate,
Mona, are you he, dressed as woman,
a topic of much debate?
Mona, if you could speak,
what would your secret entail?
Are you a lover, a mother, a daughter,
or the keeper of the Holy Grail?
Freud suggests, Mona, that your smile,
is an unconscious maternal memory,
or, perhaps, an Oedipus complex,
a secret disguised so cleverly?
Oh Mona, the mystery of your portrait
mere mortals will never understand,
the secret which lies beneath your smile,
created by the great artist's hand.