The Wrong Side of Right

[37]

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 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 by my grave and cry; 

I am not there. I did not die.  

--Mary Elizabeth Frye