I can remember setting the alarm for three o'clock

that morning of July 29th.

This was the day Diana Spencer would marry a prince.

I had followed the news reports

during the courtship and engagement,

fascinated by this lovely young woman,

only a few years older than myself.

The wedding was the most exciting event

I'd ever witnessed in my young life.

She was so beautiful! It was magical, so very magical.

I watched the ceremony all the way through,

mystified by the pageantry and splendor.

My mother allowed me to buy the book

“Invitation to a Royal Wedding”,

which I still have, my remembrance of that glorious day.

Over the years, I kept up on Princess Diana.

I became a nurse,a very good one for almost 13 years.

I watched Diana campaign and minister to the sick,

never dreaming that

I would one day become sick too.

I was married by then,

had gone back to college to finish my nursing degree,

and it was in my second year that I became ill.

I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.

In 1992, the Andrew Morton

book came out and I rushed to buy a copy.

It was so depressing to read of the troubled Diana.

I too was experiencing marital problems

at the same time and they paralleled Diana’s.

I remember trading the book at a local book and swap store.

This was a book I didn't want to keep,

so painful in it's revelations.

Early in August, on that terrible night,

I was sitting alone in my apartment.

I had left my husband

some months back,was in the process of divorcing him,

and had so much regret for wasting my youth

on someone who clearly didn't love me enough,

just as Charles hadn’t loved Diana enough.

The phone rang,it was my Mother,

saying there had been a car crash

involving Princess Diana.

I felt my heart drop,grabbed the remote,

and watched for hours until it was

officially announced that Diana was dead.

All I could think of was why?

How could this be? I was in shock,

as was the entire civilized world.

I wrote in my journal,

“August 30th Saturday--

Princess Diana died late this night--so sad."

A tragic end to the fairy-tale, a sad realization that even

the most beautiful and caring woman

in the world couldn't find the happiness she so deserved.

I was up the next morning at 6:30 am,

watching the news coverage.

I stayed up all night on September 5th 1997,

this time to see the funeral.

I cried for hours, and when I thought I could cry no more,

Elton John sang “Goodbye England’s Rose”.

I just wailed with gut-wrenching sobs,

tears streaming down my face.

Never had I mourned so strongly for anyone, ever.

Like most of us,

I began collecting Princess Diana memorabilia

While I had always collected dolls,

now it was dolls in her image,

music boxes that played Elton's song,

plates,books,and video tapes of Diana and her life.

I have all the Halcyon Days commemorative boxes,

as well as the Staffordshire,

and all other manner of things to help me remember her,

and to help fill the sadness She left inside of me.

I guess it still is a way for me to

grieve for the loss of such an incredible woman,

who had a tremendous influence and effect

on me, which I hadn't realized was there.

Diana was the icon of my generation,

she embodied all the promise of youth and beauty,

the promise that one day I too could be a part of the fairy-tale,

find my prince and live happily ever after.

I guess you could call my story a fractured fairy-tale,

that almost died along with Diana,

the young woman who sparked the hope in me years ago.

Each time I buy something from the days when she was alive,

it is like having a piece of that old faith back,

a souvenir of my past as well as hers.

I wrote a poem with Diana in mind.

The Sikh in the poem is from the story of

"The Little Princess", He is the Indian servant who creeps

in through the window of the little girl

who has been banished from the others

of her station, as it was thought

her father was dead,thus leaving her a pauper.

The evil headmistress,

made her live in the attic with no heat,or

any comforts she was accustomed too.

In the poem, I become the Sikh,

a subconscious alter-ego,trying to

make every thing grand despite my despair,

covering the house with material things,

instead of facing the reality…replacing

Diana with images of her, as if she would one day

be real again…keeping my memory of her through things,

to help me through my grief, not only of her loss to the world,

but mine as well.

The title of the poem refers to illusional magic,
in this case,a shared fairy-tale.

~FAERIE GLAMOUR~

I am the little princess,or so it seems,

But I am the magic Sikh that enters during dreams

Through my window of sadness,alone as I sleep,

Transforming my prison into a castle's keep

Lining the walls with images framed gold,

Filling the emptiness with treasures untold.

I live in a doll's house, or so it feels

Through glass eyes of blue,the illusion is real.

My fine furnishings give a comfort of sort,

But the image of a Princess reigns o’er this porcelain court.

Dolls of a beautiful Princess who too a sadness did share,

Pain and sorrow did this noble woman bear.

Those secret fairy-tales,neither written nor spoken,

Kept from the innocent,the hope of love lays broken.

Taken away before happiness could bloom,

In her Ivory tower she too sits in her room.

From Her celestial palace to me she speaks,

“Beware of false princes and heart’s havoc they wreak.

Beware of melancholy and fear the Sikh."

Composed January 26th,1999.
Copyright ©1999-2007,Leslie Holley.All Rights Reserved.
No unauthorized replication of my poetry or graphic images.

Diana had a lot of emotional issues as we all know,

that held her back for a while.

Maybe this is what the Sikh in the poem means.

In the original story,he was

the good Samaritan,in my poem,it translates

as not facing up to reality.

I truly feel Diana helped in the composition.

I do believe the souls of the departed visit us frequently.

My priest says they pass through walls.

I have had some very prophetic dreams in the past,

my family can attest to this.

I did light a candle in the church for her,

and will do so again on her birthday.

She is as dear to me as my patron saint, St.Therese,

who promised to send a shower of roses from heaven,

blessings to the faithful and those in need.

Maybe Diana is visiting those whom she feels needs it,

continuing to comfort the needy and downtrodden.

People may think all of this is nuts,

but I don't care.

I have never altered my ways to conform to others ideals,

and this is what I believe.

I have been with her so vividly in dreams.

In one, we were standing outside Buckingham Palace,

The place where we were standing was across the street,

on a grayish stone area that had tall lights and a monument.

She wanted to go across to the palace,

but I hesitated. I told her I couldn't go in,

I’m not supposed to. Then she took my hand

and reassured me it was all right.

Each dream has left me feeling so good,comforted.

I swear I can still feel her hand in mine

as she led me across that street and into the palace.

Since this composition

and those early tragic months following her death,

I have begun to paint again.

I started out my life as an artist,by fate went

into nursing.

Now I am repainting Princess Diana dolls and making

clothing and jewelry as she once wore,for my own dolls.

My new joy and passion,back to where I

started so long ago,an artist,

with hope still in my heart.
~Leslie

Email me

Copyright Text,Poetry and Prose ©1999-2005,Leslie Holley.

All Rights Reserved.

This site is a member of WebRing. To browse visit Here.

Main site index with more links
~Leslie's Lovies~artist repaints
~Diana's Blue Eyes ~a tribute
~Remembering Diana,Princess of Wales ~
~ Candle in the Wind 1997~a tribute
Poem for the 5th anniversay for Diana
~Diana and Dodi~in memory
~Diana,Queen of Hearts~a simple and elegant tribute
Princess Diana Tributes Index for more!
Princess Diana Dolls Index