Anne Frank's House

... And just as I thought I couldn’t be anymore inspired, as the canal boat turned the corner, the guide said, ‘And this is the house of Anne Frank …’ which is now a museum. I went cold and without any warning I felt myself weeping, tears fell down my face. She had played here on this cobbled street, looked out of these windows, no doubt cycled along these paths. The guide told us that Anne’s Father had been interviewed and asked why he had allowed publication of something as personal as his daughter’s diary and he had said that it was her childhood dream to become a published writer. I was so moved by this:

A poem written by Cheryl Beer whilst passing Anne Frank’s House

Collecting Beautiful Sentences

He asked, Sweet child

When you grow older

What do you think

You will do?

She said, Papa

I will collect with my pen

Beautiful sentences

Telling and true

The journalist calls

Readers enthralled

My words threaded

Like beaded jewels

Dear Child,

A writer such as you

Can hold a dream

That may split the seam

Life is not always as we dreamt it

Once true

Oh papa, she laughed

Your wisely old words

Fall like stars sewn

To the soles of my feet

Dream slumber outnumbered

By nightmares encumbered

Engraved on canal cobbled streets

A young girls’ daily retreat

Secrets leaked

Like blood from her pen

Etched into life’s paper chase

Her closest friend

And now, just as then

Tombstone stooped

Brick built, eyes green framed

Lest we forget

An attic forlorn by fame

Such can be the bitter taste

Of dreams come true

They asked

Why did you share her diary?

Her hope, fear, panic and pain

Why did you look

Why did you

Open her book

Papa hung his head and said

Let me explain

It’s my last gift for my little girl

The last thing that I can do

To leave her memory as a writer

Peace campaign fighter

Make her childhood dreams come true

I won’t see her skip through tulip fields

Or float on the canal with the wind

I won’t see her grow

And in my heart I know

Her story shares more than I can give

Through her words

My Anne can live

In the memories burned

And the lessons learned

Out of the mouth of this babe

Rings a message so close and true

We must teach those who come

To live and love each other as one

Be they Dutch, German, Nazi or Jew