One year already...

Mum 1932-2022

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 on snow.

I am the sun on ripened grain.

I am the gentle Autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush.

I am the swift uplifting rush.

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there. 

I did not die. 

 

 by Mary Elizabeth Frye