Do Not Stand at My Grave, I am not there.
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.
by Mary Frye