Do not stand at my grave and weep

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Do not stand at my grave and weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep

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 the snow
I am the sun 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

~ Mary Frye, 1932 ~