Princess, Queen of hearts
That was me.

Those countless sketches you have watched
centre spreads and cover pics
gleaming gowns, fashion statesments
Stuff that dreams are made of.

Shy teenager from her anonymity
to the glare and glamour of royalty.
perhaps a future queen,
You testified it was a fairy tale.

You watched avidly when a glass coach took me
to the greatest event of the century.
(I did not have glass slippers and
my coach had wheels,mind you)

Amidst the pomp and pageantry I stepped into
A world of protocols and polite handshakes

Shy girls sometimes rebel
And fairy tales have to be re-crafted.

Basking in the sunshine of your adulation
robbed me off my royal ending
English Rose ripe for news hounds.

But flash bulbs started hurting
as voyeuristic lenses peeped through key holes.
Curious cats of my story did not die
(A classic proverb gone sour)
They chased and killed their golden goose

That macabre predawn hour shifted me for ever
on to history shelves
Diana 1961-1997.
My image stays, more virtual than real.