Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and forever 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 forever cry.
I am not there. I did not die.
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