| Do Not Weep |
| 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 wake in the morning hush, I am the swift, upligting 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 E. Frye |
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