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 in the 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 the night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I did not die.
- Mary Elisabeth Frye, 1932