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I am not there
 by Mary E. Frye

Do not stand
at my grave and weep

I am not there,
I do not sleep

I am a thousands 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 awake
in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting brush

of quiet white doves 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.