I will not stand at your grave and cry

I will not stand at your grave and weep

You are not there; you are not sleep.

You are  a thousand winds that blow,

You are the diamond glints on snow,

You are the sun on ripened grain,

You are the gentle autumn rain.

When I'm 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.