Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am the birds that sing
I am in each gentle thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die

~~Mary E. Frye