The sun now sets, adipose as king
The tide by Katong side recedes, retracts a promise
Nursing the pale moon in our palm
 
The softness of his wife, who yields to him at night,
Installed a sudden truce:
 
Eight swallows fly,
Load this evening's sensibility
 
Silence at last.
'You must, your trust, weights my soul'
Low clouds, dank air
 
Afterwards there's nothing left.
 
 
A cento from Goh Poh Seng's Eyewitness, published by Heinemann Educational Books (1976).