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 awake with morning's hush
I am the swift, up-flinging rush
Of quiet birds 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