Looking through a secondhand book bought years ago by my father-in-law, probably in London, I found this unfinished Valentines Day card. A wartime romance coming to a melancholy end? I suppose the couple was most likely an American soldier, with artistic flare, and a British woman. I searched online for the first line of the poem and came up with nothing, so the poet and artist may well have been one and the same.
The host book was a late ‘40’s novel, though I’m ashamed to say I don’t remember the title. How the card came to be a bookmark is anyone’s guess; no one can think of any family connection and as I say, the book was secondhand.