My son.
I cast the javelin at mine own son, and he went out from my presence furious, and still he loved David to the end.
David, you knit true. He was slain with me on Gilboa.
Jonathan, you found me when I had nothing but a cave and a psalm. You said it plainly and I believed you.
My soul was knit to yours from that day. I miss you still. 🏹
14 Oct 2026, 21:54
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