A SIDE

A side of you I've always liked is your ability to laugh at my mistakes; meanwhile, you seldom seem highly able to laugh at anyone else's errors, and I definitely might include your own gaffes and bonerlets and such in that very category. In me you evidently see something we might call "rather special."
I daily awaken into my own infinite forms of darkness; part and parcel of such crumby crumbly rueable and rude new awakening must be the inveterate and ineradicable clumsiness and gaucheness forever in me and always likely to cause me to appear pauselessly composed of paws that entirely are very misguided thumbs. I may scintillate and also may shed some wonderful scarves and some fine intuitions, but I essentially and otherwise am so far from quite worthwhile that you and others (other people, that is) must sense my hopelessness.
Near the cruxish moment in which I blithely and blitheringly sat down to compose this folderol, I again was recalling how your smile and your chucklings and chortlings and guffaws sometimes may seem to be attacking my marrows. Ah, what a sumptuousness you are! You richly can see and can perceive: "In me you see the twilight of such day as, after sunset, fadeth in the west; in me you see the dying of such fire as on the ashes of its youth doth sit; that time of year you soon in me may note as involveth barren branches and yellow leaves." (I may not yet be 73, nor may I possess a really fully "shaking speare"; however, you legitimately note my very wretched and crotchety and rickety selves; thanks for quite ample sympathy expressed through a kind of ridicule!)