Til minne

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

Mary Elizabeth Frye