Diary

10 January, 1952

Me, 12 y.o.



Where's the Prince on his snow-white horse?

With a ring in his pocket and one scarlet rose?

Where's my servant with some gold tray?

Where're musicians? Why don't they play?



Oh, what a pity! It isn't my tale!



10 January, 1957

Me, 17 y.o.



Black mustangs in prairies and Indians' beat,

Some strong whistling wind mixing the heat,

I am depressed to sugar my pill -

That black-moustached cowboy turns into a shill.



Oh, what a pity! It isn't my film!



10 January, 1964

Me, 24 y.o.



A big modern auto - Just wow! - Limousine!

I saw him one day in a chic magazine.

Is he an actor? Pop idol or sheikh?

Lifeguards, press and public lead him away,



Oh, what a pity! It isn't my day!



10 January, 2020

Me, 80 y.o.



Where's the Prince on his snow-white horse?

With a ring in his pocket and one scarlet rose?

Where's my servant with some gold tray?

Where're musicians? Why don't they play?



Oh, what a pity! It isn't my tale!