Digital Artist

POEM • 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 circling

flight

I am the soft starshine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there; I did not die