June 1943 on board ship for No. Africa

(W.C. Guthrie collection)

The flower is faded, all crushed and torn

the tablet is water stained and worn.

It cost at most a five cent peice

But its value to me shall never cease.

The dogeared corners, dirty pages and all

From their place in my heart shall never fall.

To you who look its only a book.

A small tablet of paper so cheap

But its a token to me-from a loved one to keep.

A keepsake of love to compare with no other          

It came to me with Love from Mother.