April 20, 2021: A Sight in Camp . . . by Walt Whitman in Leaves of Grass, pg. 247

 A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim

A Sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,
Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

Curious I halt and silent stand
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket,
Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim,
    with well-gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step -- and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third -- a face nor child nor old, very calm,
as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you -- 
I think this face is the face of the Christ himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.