Do Not Stand At My Grave

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's 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.

 Mary Frye