Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I’m a thousand winds that blow
I’m the diamond glints on snow.
I’m 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’m the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there, although I died.
by Mary Elizabeth Frye
