Do not stand at my grave and weep
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Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
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I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
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I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
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When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
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Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
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Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Mary Elizabeth Frye
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