Text 45

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 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.