Thai was her mother, Portuguese her dad.
A waitress working in old Singapore.
Eurasian face so pretty yet so sad,
Hinted of disappointments borne before:
Perhaps a soldier wearied by the war —
A brief but torrid tropic love affair;
Or else a Yankee sailor cast ashore?
These thoughts passed through my mind — why did I care?
Why not then ask her? Really, would I dare?
I held my breath, arose, and called her near —
So close to me, her face, her jet-black hair,
The scent of her — the memories so dear.
Those recollections in my mind remain.
Where are you now, my lovely lady Jane?
— D.N. O’Brien