Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
I am not there
I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
As you wake with morning’s hush
I am the swift up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds in in circling flight,
I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
by my grave, and cry –
I am not there,
I did not die.
Clare Harner