After a prognosis, of two or two and a half years to live, I decided books of my own poems, was a legacy I could give. At age seventy-seven, no longer in an age we call prime, staying home and counting fly specks, seemed like a waste of time. So Iave called up old memories, and daydreamed things as well, to create this legacy of my stories, to read, to treasure, and to tell. This may be the last book, as time is no longer amy friend, a but if you read, I will write. May the legacy never end!