Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken
in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die.


De:
Mary Elizabeth Frye