Mother’s poem

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 that 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 Elizabeth Frye - 1932