Once again life continues to surprise me, this time a lot closer to home than I would have thought to expect. Namely the book case situated 90 degrees to the left of the direction I am facing. Let me start at the beginning and paint a picture of the scene as it was and ever shall be…
It was a rainy afternoon, I was soaked through after a brisk walk/jog from town and the only thing that could possibly warm me up that was ready to hand was the warm non judgemental tactile experience of book handling. With hands sufficiently dried, I turned to my happy task.
So there I was having some me time with the books, you know the drill, randomly picking them up, reading a sentence or two, caressing the backs, eyeing up the blurb in a borderline flirtatious way when I come to a particularly old book that I haven’t looked at for years. A barely remembered book that has been occupying the same space with me for the best part of a decade.
Now flicking through it was an experience in itself, hearing that crack of the spine and feeling the gentle waft of a breeze from speedily flicked pages, complimented nicely by the aroma of warm mustiness. Suddenly something slipped from betwixt these olde pages and, to my eyes, in slow motion didst flutter to the floor. Unmoved, as the last time this happened it was an old pizza and kebab menu from one of the local, only inviting when drunk, take out places. Not this time however, sighing I reached for the rectangle of paper and realised that this was something special….
The sheet was folded and had a creamy white look about it. Opening it up and ignoring the typewritten look of it for the moment, I was able to discern faint but fancy writing, which I could only decipher when held up to the light like a water mark. It read ‘hans bank’. Thereupon, intrigued I Turned mine eye to the text and I found a poem which read thusly:
Hello again, dear friend of mine
Tradition forbids, that I would lend,
My name, or even yet, a line.
To tell you t’was, this card did send.
And yet, a hint I’ll give, t’would be just fine,
For you, to me, the very same to send.
In fact, should you forget again this time,
be warned! It won’t just be your ear I’ll bend!
So if I now, may take the time,
To make it clear, t’is love I send.
Please may I be your valentine?
And, will you always be my friend.
I wondered if this was an original poem or one from a book, so after a bit of internet searching, I came to the conclusion that it was in all probability a besotted person who set down these words in their own unique way and never had any idea that it would find its way into my hands.
I wonder why it was discarded, to whom it was for and whose hand did type it. Another of life’s mysteries that will probably never be solved but something wondrous to ponder upon. it is a remote possibility but if anyone has any information on this I would be most intrigued to know more. Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.