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’s 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~

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