My Father the Craftsman Part I

Death of mother hallowed out silence more painful then buzzing power tool, aye never again saw, nor heard industriousness jollity eviced, contrasted when mourning did rule wrought immediate cessation from his strong lance throwing arms, where artisanal magic did un spool and ample tears streamed down raw cheeks enough to fill a pool uncertain if sparring with depression sprung via loss of a Coney Island jewel whose poverty she claimed (shamefully) most meals comprising thin gruel rescuing a damsel in distress thence deceased didst fuel unwonted burded, and forced him to spar with fear he might lose the duel left alone in a old mansion with only fond fading memories utmost cruel.