I look up the hill where your tree once stood...full of life, proud to flare its green penants every Spring for all to see .

Now you're gone...and so is the tree.The minutes fall into hours and the hours inevitably become days...and still your words stand the test of time...your image and voice carry on your legacy...your fans only know the pain of your words; not the pain of your Soul.

You dressed your life in eloquence...the words dancing on your tongue ....dancing like the green penants of the tree...leaves dancing all the year, until they could dance no more; like you Annie, you 'could dance no more'.

I'll stay here, in this place...this rustic old cabin; waiting for the Spring to bring the tree back to Life again; and your words to resound again from these green hills...waiting for you....here from the bottom of the Hill.