Born Kevin Harold Legrismith in Herrick Hospital,

Borne to Kodesh Hakodashim (holy of holies), by Carrick, half-asleep,

Bored of Kwizatz Haderak like the Kereikion's haywire,

bought by the eternal Kohen Gadol's sacrificial crucifixion,

dubbed Kevin from Heaven by Kathleen the Valet,

Seventh son in a row of Glendalough,

Seventh son in a row of Clinton's Book Club,

Seventh son in a row of cousins,

sent like Bard's black arrow to smite Smaug to the seventh,

See it's like how I spontaneously saw, bullseyed, the bull's eye.

the edge of the 47th of 49 occultations, of Aldebaran at 4:44 AM

Speaking of the eye of taurus': turns out the eye on the tower, (not Sauron's, not the Illuminati's)

is the Way the Truth the Light,

The Alpha the Omega.

The lullaby says make two three and you’ve got the whole world to feed.

Always wandering about wondering about the one ring,

warring with the dark lord within, the shard of Voldemort in my soul,

jarring to find the anagram in my name as in Tom Marvolo’s,

Okay it's a torn riddle, broken open and thrown away just so it's gone like a Marbolo,

good riddance, who cares about a cig nullified? Signal if I lied.

Okay so I'm short an O but since ought's nought, naughty I'd not. A’ight? Oughtn’t I also say:

I'm Harry Potter, because I'm named Harry, and my Father's the Potter.

Though I'm missing Ginny, I'm no misogynist...

I’m Lupes son, perchance not a lobeison, perfectly reformed in universal righteousness.
Nigh Noah’s Hebrew day of Ararat: 7-17-5775,
In the lunar Jubilee of the rejuvenation of Jerusalem to the Jewish nation, Israel,

I returned to what is real,

first, some days after claiming the sun was the moon,

I saw four stars appear around a crown of eight daisies,

star flowers as translated from the latin name in Linneus' nomenclature,

"Golden oval" I heard with a pop in my ear.

As in the Tree of Good and Evil, from the

Garden of Eden, where in

God, Adam, Eve, were, until that

Goat, the Devil

Goaded the double

of them to make that fatal error.
Yet though once, she said she couldn’t even touch it.
Yet now it clothes her, to God’s Glory.
Glory To God!

So I became, perhaps, the Seventh Son of the Seventh Son, the son of David, by his Son Jesus,

Protegee turned prodegy returned as a prodigal.

Excuse this poetry, just trying to spare you the prosody, now I'm more a Zionist than a scientist so without dilemma this lemma I'll admit: