The Little Flower Girl

Down at the church the flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart Painted sister stopped beside. a word upon her saintly lip Perhaps admonishing the child inside the open slip I don't know where she might go when she runs home at night It's for the best: I wouldn't rest when I turned out the light No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream---- Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine I have touched that face a dozen times before. and I have let my pencil run Laid down washes on a foreign shore, under a hot and foreign sun My best sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm I close the door. she is no more until the next appointed hour Northeastern light push back the night: painted promises in store No little flower girl singing in my troubled dream---- Just an old man's model in a pose from a magazine Down at the church my flower girl sits. legs innocent, apart I make the picture puzzle fit to start your heart My golden sable brushes drift the soft inside of her arm Her chin I tilt, her breasts I lift. I mean no harm I mean no harm. I mean