This poem was written and self published by my great grandfather. I remember this little room he talks about. He lived there in my Grandfather's house in old age, with his pictures hung of my Great Grandmother and her ashes in his room. Some might call that strange, but he kept them so that when he died they could be mixed together and spread out into the wind and in so doing return to the dust and earth together forever. His poems bring tears to my eyes every time I read them, even when they aren't sad. Such a brilliant and impassioned life he led.