MELLOW YELLOW MONDAY
I'm not a judge of Art, you know, not by any means;
And I'm not writing this as a critique,
But I am attracted to portraits such as the one above,
Which have an air of history and mystique.
I wonder about the model, who she was, what was her name;
The artist doesn't get a second thought.
(In fact I can't acknowledge him because he's slipped my mind,
A fact that's bound to summon a retort!)
This yellow dress is eye-catching, but not the best I've seen;
The folds seem rather awkward and unreal,
Unlike the works of masters, which make ones fingers itch,
Because the paint portrays the very feel.
No, it is the lady, or should I say 'the wench'.
Who fascinates me with her creamy skin.
Her expression's enigmatic and I'd love to know her mind
And find out all the secrets there within.
The way she tilts her little hat shows a certain insolence;
The red hair's rather wayward and quite free;
The way she holds her reticule is posed in the extreme
And she seems to make a feature of her knee.
Now here's my guess......she's a serving-maid and the master's paramour;
He's called her to his studio before.
And this is milady's favourite dress that she's been told to wear;
Her own attire is dirty and quite poor.
Her expression shows the artist and the model share a joke;
Maybe milady's absent for the day.
Soon the model must divest herself of the trappings that she wears,
And make a point of putting them away.
The dress is already crumpled from a welcoming embrace;
Such is the way with amorous affairs.
But she'll be back in the scullery before the day is done,
And I doubt very much if the artist even cares!
To think such a curious shadow
Should come from a normal child!
It looks like some sort of creature
One might find in the wild!
Where has that spike come from,
Where has the body gone,
One thin leg and one fat one
As he goes scooting on.
This black and curious demon
Could give one quite a fright,
But we know it's just a distortion
Created by the light.