1965
Milady was our malady,
Milady was our malady,
Madam Meddly Mala Dee
Once the threnody
Pretty faced
Misfortunes milled
Mala fide breezes
In many hearts
Mellowed memories
In my innocent stories
Was she my mistress, yes-
Fresher’s English class, no less!
Milady memorized, ready
With Pygmalion- My Fair Lady
She would talk Herrick
We would sometimes pick
The passages that most embarrassed
Malady- oh yes, she handled that
And turned cherry red
Stirred and coughed, perhaps inside she bled
Milady, malady, oh Mala Dee
She squirmed in our glee
We even asked if she had a neighbor
Lady Chatterley, she turned sour!
And she had an affair
A man with a family somewhere
Mala Dee’s malady- her cups of woe
Like monsoon rivers in spate overflow
As she entered the coffee house
She declared to none in particular, “bloody louse”
She was crying, we gathered around,
Somehow we no longer found
Malady, Mala Dee as the object of our perfidy
It was obvious she was ours, pretty
Our mistress in distress
She had our hearts sharing the mess…
Years went by, we graduated, strayed low and high
Yet our English Miss, that Malady Mala Dee, sigh
Unfazed memories she brought, mala fide
We craved her, we cried
2011
Mala Dee died a year ago, at her death,
Rose a threnody of a heart break
She stayed a spinster, for nearly fifty winters
Hardening to Herrick, Coleridge without fears
And of Mary Angelou Octavio Paz, Saul Bellow
She had taught well, lived life, speculations did flow
We remember you, roses to you, Miss Malady
We loved you like no one did, mala fide, Mala Dee!
Mala fide, Mala Dee, with melodies in our hearts
Roses for the Mistress who gave to us a literary start!
