True they brought his mother dead:
He nor swayed, nor uttered cry;
All his friends, watching, said,
'he must weep or he perishes'.

Then they hailed her, soft and low,
Called her worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe,
Yet he neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a blood from his place,
Lightly to the mother stepped,
Took the mask from the face;
Yet he neither moved or wept.

Rose a friend of twenty years,
Set his sisters hands upon his shoulders--
Like Harmattan tempest came his tears--
"sweet sisters, I live for thee."

~Kaptain