by Mary Elizabeth Frye:
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.