I was asked to write about my mother
My dear mother, the dearest of my dearest
My soul..my confidant..my best friend
I was asked to write about her. ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.