This piece expresses my feelings toward womanhood. It is best described by a poem written by my friend, Donald Ross, a Sioux Indian. My friends, you see my companion by my side, the mother of our children, and the grandmother of our grandchildren. She has been my love, my friend, and my companion. I recall the first time she stood within the folds of my blanket. She was shy, timid, and trembled like a delicate fawn. Her eyes were bright and full of hope. Her hair was shiny with beauty. I knew that ours was to be a long life together. We loved each other. I petitioned her father to permit her to become my bride. My gifts to him were stoically accepted as if to say that nothing material could equal her in value. How prophetic he was. Her quiet way of approval gave me reassurance of her love. She has come to mean life itself. We grew with our children and became friends. Sharing the secrets of our love and the joys of our family. Too soon our children left us. Our love enveloped us, and our friendship grew strong and binding. Hers had been a hard life, having to endure the hardships a man cannot experience. Her eyes have grown dim and the hope is gone. Her braids are thin and no longer shiny or beautifully dark. Her joy over her first grandchild could not be exceeded by mine. Her mothering was given with grandmotherly care. Her usefulness seems to her at a standstill. She has become my companion—She who was my love, my friend. She has become my companion - She who was my love, my friend is now all three. She is my love, my friend, my companion, and I honor her. | 
