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 awake 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

06-12-2017 om 21:24 geschreven door snarf