Poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye


Do not stand on 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 mornings’ 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.