I am not there

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 quite birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at nigh.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.

Mary E. Frye (1905 - 2004)