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 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 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 Frye
Vanessa, thank you so much. It's beautiful.
I love this except, sort of, for the last line. We do die, physically. But we (and they) are all those things, forever and ever.
ReplyDeleteThis really is beautiful. I heard it first at my father's 'funeral'. A few months after his death, our immediate family went up to the game preserve on a gorgeous fall day and scattered his ashes to the wind. My mother recited this as we did, and the ashes flew up in the air on the wind, just as if they were rising into the sky. I miss Dad, but that day is a good memory.
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