My Wooden Horse, My Toy Gun! Poem by Joe Sadeghloo

Once I went to 'All Saints' to visit Anna
I couldn't find her
She was lost
She was eighty-two
I'd thought she was at least a good fighter!
I had to see her...
I had to talk to her...
I had to tell her about my wooden horse and my toy gun
I had to tell her how I was forced to ride my wooden horse,
to shoot my toy gun, to fight, and to win...!
I had to see Anna...
I had to tell her...
But the sun was going to die...,
I was afraid and rushed!
The cemetery reminded me my wooden horse
I wished I had a real gun!