You who are not known. I who am barely known to myself. Ash-heaped dreams, not of conscious accord, unilateral in action, self-inflicted by Adamic nature ... and a weak jaw.
Twice bitten, yet twice blessed with cherubs. More love without a love, though crushed the cuckold curse, a quiver (and life) full of two boys yet to be men, with blessings sought to give.
Decades of mistakes, and another decade of amelioration before restoration come. Hard work is good for the soul, but talent buried is not rewarded. Focused on Creator and the menial task, a better man to come.
Morning Star. A new page. A new fountain pen and fount of possibilities . . . and restoration come (and restoration come).