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 awake in the morning 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