Dear Anne, I thought of you today
It’s the twelfth of June, the date when on
Your thirteenth birthday
You began the famous diary
That millions now have read
And I find it hard to think of you as dead
As I went out walking in the bright sunshine
I was thinking of your years in hiding
In the House Behind
All the things I take for granted
Were like luxuries to you
Pens and paper, books to read
And enough food
And the ghostly smoke still lingers
Over European skies
In my dreams I smell the burning flesh
And I hear the desperate cries
Are the murderers in uniform
Or sitting smugly in church pews?
And the victims: are they Witches?
Are they Jews?
Dear Anne, what must you have endured?
When I try to count your sacrifice
I cannot find the words
Now the whole world lies before me
I have health and strength and youth
And I’ve sworn to live for magic
And for Truth
Dear Anne, you were dark and I am fair
Worlds apart in many ways and yet
So many things we share
Though you wore a yellow star
And I wear a pentacle
In the mind and heart
We’re really much the same
And may She who made us both
Thrice bless your name!
