A Thought in Times of Grief
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 sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn's rain.
When you awaken in the mornings hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there,
I did not die.
Author unknown
Marie Irene Howe
1927-1996
