I thought no one could hate me more than myself
But I forgot I had my mother.
So now I’ve made six flashcards for the most ever occurring moods of hers.
One is when she curses the day I was born. ...
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.