To
      Marita
     
    
   
   
    
     
      She
      came
      to
      us
      from
      St.
      John.
     
     
      Now
      the
      grand
      lady
      is
      gone.
     
     
      Alas,
      this
      lady
      has
      died,
     
    

    
     
      And
      sad
      I
      must
      now
      confide
     
     
      In
      you,
      as
      if
      my
      duty,
     
    

    
     
      Of
      this
      lady’s
      true
      beauty.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      knew
      her
      kindness
      and
      grace,
     
     
      Her
      gentleness
      and
      good
      taste.
     
    

    
     
      I
      knew
      her
      patience
      and
      charm,
     
     
      Her
      confidence
      and
      calm.
     
     
      There’s
      no
      one
      she
      would
      deride.
     
     
      Above
      all,
      she
      was
      dignified.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Art,
      in
      its
      all,
      was
      her
      love,
     
     
      Lifting
      us
      all,
      high
      above
     
    

    
     
      The
      ordinary,
      and
      brought
     
    

    
     
      Us
      closer
      in
      cultured
      thought.
     
     
      Friend
      to
      us
      and
      to
      the
      Muse.
     
     
      Now
      all,
      but
      mem’ries,
      to
      lose.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      Even
      in
      dying,
      her
      life
     
    

    
     
      Shone
      through
      her
      pain
      and
      strife.
     
     
      The
      lady
      was
      dignity,
     
    

    
     
      And
      is,
      for
      eternity.
     
    
   
   
    
     
        
     
    
   
   
    
     
      -
      A
      lesser
      Friend
     
    
   
   
    
     
      To
      Great
      Grandmother
     
     
      From
      Kheng-Wee
     
    
   
   
    
     
      When
      we
      last
      met,
     
     
      I
      was
      a
      child.
     
     
      Now
      we
      meet
      again.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      You
      are
      in
      peace,
     
     
      repose
      on
      the
      narrow
      death-bed.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      (She
      smiles,
      saying
      nothing;
     
     
      yet
      saying
      so
      much.)
     
    
   
   
    
     
      I
      know,
      it
      has
      been
      too
      long,
     
     
      but
      you
      still
      look
      the
      same.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      (A
      slender
      lady
      :
     
     
      with
      silver
      hair,
      a
      braided
      crown,
     
     
      her
      reward
      for
      a
      glorious
      life.)
     
    
   
   
    
     
      And
      I,
      older,
     
    

    
     
      not
      necessarily
      wiser,
     
     
      will
      always
      be
     
    

    
     
      your
      little
      girl.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      We
      stopped
      growing
      old
     
     
      together
     
    

    
     
      when
      we
      last
      said
     
     
      good-bye.
     
    
   
   
    
     
      My
      last
      kiss
     
     
      on
      your
      painted
      face.
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      The
      UPEI
      X-Press
     
    
   
   
    
     
      November
     
    
   
   
    
     
      1st,
      1990
      Page
      13