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'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 starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there.
I did not die.
——Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 – 2004)
