I will not stand at your grave and weep;
You are not there. You do not sleep.
You are a thousand winds that blow,
You are the diamond glints on snow.
You are the sunlight on ripened grain,
You are the gentle autumn's rain.
When I awaken in the morning's hush,
You are the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
You are the soft stars that shine at night;
I will not stand at your grave and cry;
You are not there, you did not die.