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 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