A Poem 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 the ripened grain.
I am the gentle
autumn rain.
When you waken
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.