The crowds walked past me with no more than a quick glance. A young girl grabbed her mother’s hand. Pulling her mother behind her, the girl stared at me wide eyed. My enigmatic expression often draws the attention of both children and adults. Some admire the mystery of who I am yet others puzzle over it for years.
Propped against a small wooden easel as nothing more than a panel, I waited patiently to see what I would become. The man dipped his brush into a small glass jar of paint. Pressing the brush to my blank surface, something incredible began to emerge. With each steady stroke of the brush I became more than a few random lines, but a marvelous masterpiece.
In my life of nearly five-hundred years I have been warped, burned, and chipped. Some may say that I perhaps am not the exquisite beauty as I once was.  Despite that, if you were to see me today you would immediately know my name. You would know that I am Mona Lisa.