Old man Time, 'e's wrote his log up in the wrinkles on my brow, <br />And there ain't that much about me as a girl 'ud take to now; <br />For I've changed beyond all knowing from the chap I used to be, <br />When I can remember Mariquita, as was mighty fond o' me! <br /> <br />I can shut my eyes and see it just as plain as yesterday, <br />See the harbour and the mountains and the shipping in the bay, <br />And the town as looked like heaven to us shellbacks fresh from sea <br />And I can remember Mariquita, as thought a deal o' me! <br /> <br />I can hear the chiming mule-bells, and a stave o' Spanish song, <br />And the blessed old guitarros as kep' tinkling all night long; <br />Hear the dusty palm trees stirring, taste the vino flat and sour, <br />And I can remember Mariquita, and her white skirts like a flower. <br /> <br />But it's years now since I've seen her, if she's died I never knew, <br />Or got old and fat and ugly, same as Dagoes mostly do; <br />And it's maybe better that way, for there's nothing left but change, <br />And the ships I knew all going, and the ports I knew grown strange, <br />And the chaps I knew all altered, like the chap I used to be, <br />But I can remember Mariquita, and she's always young for me.<br /><br />Cicely Fox Smith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mariquita/
