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