Our Departed

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 of 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.

Anonymous