Good morning son, I write to you for a simple reason, this wretched war. I wish you never experience my shoes, I go through too much poppycock that a child should never feel. Don’t take for granted your mother’s dedication, and the Negroes. They’re going away for a little, I know you’ve acquainted them, but they’ll come back to visit you and your sister. The deaths were tremendous, thank God I have the strength to continue, stay with me. However, we were granted luck because of the North's arrogance, the soldiers enlisted for three years and journeyed home. Although, I was required to take combat in a march in Georgia, where they burned everything and took our hard earned supplies. They're foolish and viscous, Bob, you don't want to be around the Yankees. I wonder what’s in that green box I sent for you and your sister, hopefully you’ll write back.
Sincerely,
George
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