Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there; I do not sleep
I am the diamond glints on 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 circling flight
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.
-Mary Frye