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 glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the mornings hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling 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 Frye

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