Do not weep
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 E.Frye 1932
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