Stories and Stuff

Do Not Stand At My Grave
by Joyce Fossen

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 glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush
I am the swift, uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.

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

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