Do not stand at my grave and weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

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.