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 hush I am that swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry I am not there, I did not die. Mary Frye - 1932