From my pride of place on the wall
I lie neglected in a corner
With old papers and rags
To be sold away for some pennies.
I longingly see the place
That I considered my own
Given away ruthlessly
To a newly printed calendar.
Gone are the golden days
When no programme could be made
Without first consulting me,
When no important note
Remained unscribbled on my surface.
Don’t mock at me, new calendar,
You have months no different,
Your dates and days are the same
Only their matching is different.
Enjoy your days of glory, my friend,
Your place will not be yours for ever,
Not many days are left
Before you are replaced by another calendar.