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 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 elizabeth frye - 1932
I read that poem at my grandmother's funeral and someone read it at her daughter's funeral.
OH geez. Now I got a lump in my throat... had been pretty much on autopilot up till now (except when watching people walk by him lying in State and the changing of the guard)
bump