The Neverending Dance is a true tale of what happened to me from summer 1967 till December 1968 in London, Paris and Rome, told in verse. Paris's left bank, Roma Dolce Vita, and the Cannes Film Festival-almost everyone mentioned was well known in their own fields. When I wrote it, I felt as if I had lifted off the ground, almost flying with joy at the memory of it. It was another time, different from today's time.
