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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 sun 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 circling flight.
\\I am the soft starlight at night.
\\Do not stand at my grave and cry,
\\I am not there; I did not die. 
\\- Mary Elizabeth Frye
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