Back                                                                      In Iran 1943

A family member found this poem while going through some old family letters, I thought you might like it:

It was written by her father during the 2nd. world war:

Somewhere in Iran:

by Private Thomas Poynor.

Somewhere in Iran where the sun is like a curse,

and each day is closely followed by another slightly worse.

Where the red brick dust blows thicker then the shifting desert sand

and a Yankee's wishful thinking's for a greener, fairer land.

Somewhere in Iran where a woman's never seen.

Where the sky is never cloudy and grass is never green.

Where the jackal's nightly howling robs a man of blessed sleep,

Where there isn't any whiskey and the beer is never cheap.

Somewhere in Iran where the nights are made for love.

Where the moon is like a spotlight and the Southern Cross above,

sparkles like a diamond necklace on the throat of tropic night.

Tis a shameful waste of beauty for there's not a girl in sight.

Somewhere in Iran where the postman comes so late,

that a Christmas card in April is considered up to date.

Where we never have a payday, so of course, have not a cent,

but we do not miss the money 'cause we couldn't get it spent.

Somewhere in Iran where the snakes and lizards play.

Where a thousand sandflies gather to replace each one you slay.

Take me back to Pennsylvania, let me hear that chapel bell.

For this God forsaken outpost is a substitute for Hell.