After publishing individual poems in journals around the country for more than twenty years, I have succumbed to pressure from my wife and friends to assemble a book. Truly, I am grateful for their patient encouragement and grateful as well to the publisher. I am not old, but getting close enough to feel spurred on by some favorite lines from a favorite poet:
"An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress."
--Yeats, "Sailing to Byzantium"
My collection of poems, Hymnody of the Blue Heron, is me singing.