A Free Bird A free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wing in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through singing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn- bright lawn and he names the sky his own. Give me your hand make room for me to lead and follow you beyond this rage of poetry. Let others have the privacy of touching words and love of loss of love. For me ... give me your hand. by Maya Angelou The Noble Nature It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night- It was the plant and flower of Light In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be. Ben Jonson Angel's Hill Sitting high on the hill I look over at this pretty setting. Taking in the cold fresh air in long deep breaths, a tear silently rolls down my face. I am in a special place, a sacred place. This place has a serenity that I have never known. I feel a sense of calm and peacefulness. As the wind blows the little hill comes alive with bright windmills all twirling in the breeze, windchimes tinkle in the trees and it seems almost surreal. I close my eyes...... if you listen hard enough you can hear them - giggling and laughing as they swoop down to earth and then back to the heavens. They are happy, free to go wherever but always coming back briefly to this place where their little bodies were laid to rest. They are just spirits, little souls that are forever connected to us. When the sun shines through the trees, across this bright place you can almost see them, dancing and playing together. They are angels and through the mist of my tears I think I can see my little angel. He is smiling and even though I long to hold him, to touch him, I know I cannot. He is with me always but it is here that I feel the closest to him. I sense that he is happy and nothing can harm him and knowing this eases my sadness. I sit and time almost seems to stop while I enjoy the sensation of him being so near. It is time to go though I don't want to leave him. The tears are again flowing and I wonder if the trickling waterfall at the bottom of this " Angels Hill" was created from the tears of all the mothers who had to say goodbye to their precious ones. I look forward to the next time that I visit my son Declan and his special place. As I walk down the path I can almost hear them all whispering goodbye. I turn for one last glimpse and as if to say farewell the windmills all start turning in their colourful brilliance. This is a magical place. Lisa Marshall Dedicated to my special Angel, Declan. 29/ 6/ 99 isands newsletter 20

I'll Paint You a Rainbow I'll paint you a rainbow to hang on the wall, To brighten your heart when the grey shadows fall On a canvas of joy outlasting the years, With a soft brush of sweetness to dry all your tears. I'll paint you a rainbow with colours of smiles That glow with sincerity over the miles. On a palette of words I will tenderly blend Tones into treasures of sunlight and wind. I'll paint you a rainbow that reaches so wide, Your sights and your sorrows will vanish inside. And deep in the center of each different hue, A memory fashioned especially for you. So lift up your eyes, for suspended above, A rainbow designed by the fingers of love. by Mildred Slagle, in memory of her son Stephen Jay Slagle isands newsletter 21