For I will consider my friend Amos.
For he acknowledges the accomplishments of others.
For he appreciates galactic things.
For he appreciates microscopic things.
For he both finds and appreciates clever rhymes.
For he can dish it out and take it.
For he composes poetry upon a whim.
For he basks in the glory of so doing.
For he delights in those he has met in person and also in those he has only met virtually.
For he enjoys shootin' the breeze, chewin' the fat, throwin' the bull.
For he gives attribution to poetry.
For he goes on shopping expeditions to foreign countries in search of garish paintings.
For he has great patience.
For he has verily given welcome unto the newest.
For it is possible that he has written more poems in praise of numbers than any other person.
For he is one who has helped lift Mother when she has slipped and fallen.
For he is an excellent foil for the Man of Booques.
For he is content with the person he is.
For he is a cunning linguist, as Stilly hath earlier written.
For he is a musician and his daughter is a musician as well.
For he is a proud father.
For he knows how to write.
For he knows how to read.
For he knows many songs.
For he knows the meaning of big words.
For he loves to live.
For he loves to laugh.
For he loves to make others laugh.
For much of his language does not make Mother blush to read it.
For he once kidnaped Rapaire.
For he publishes posts about amazing scientific discoveries with excitement.
For he rejoices at others' success.
For he shares his thoughts freely.
For he shows gratitude.
For he spends many hours in the day in the vicinity of a computer.
For he tries not to think about William Shatner.
For he wields sharp foils, epees, and sabers of words when appropriate.
For he can think.