Do not stand at my Gave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the 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 morinings' hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
So...
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
For I am not there I have not died... |
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