When I consider how my sight is spent, full half the day searching the web world-wide, t' inspire hands with new skills, which, if applied might cheer eyes, warm the cold, or save a cent, or seeking books, wholesome entertainment, or learning tunes, for which my spirit sighed; how, with corrective lenses now denied, shall time to serve and improve self be spent? Methinks I need to look beyond my nose, beyond my needles, pages with type set, recall the feel of earth beneath my toes, prepare the ground for seeds, though it's so wet. I pray the lenses soon will be restored, but I will dig the dirt (dust be ignored).
Hooray! My new glasses came! I can post this without zooming in 500 times, and still getting a headache. And my peas are already sprouting. Apologies to John Milton, whose gift and trial were so much greater.
At 15, my son seems rather young to be so full of wisdom, and to have it forcibly removed. But, alas, that is how we spent this morning. He seems to be taking it well, but if there were any gems of knowledge in his babbling on the way home, I didn't catch them.