Do not stand By my grave, and weep.

I am not there, I do not sleep-I am the thousand winds that blow I am the diamond glints in snow I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain. As you awake with morning's hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight, I am the day transcending night.Do not stand By my grave, and cry-I am not there,

I did not die.

Clare Harner, 1934