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 glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die.
Author: Unknown
I had sent this poem to a bereaved widow. It was comforting to her, for after all she had not lost her husband. She found him again in the winds that blow, the sunlight , the morning hush. She need not weep, for she too (and we too) will not depart or disappear. We will be and we are the glint of sunlight on the snow.
Untitled Page
Untitled Page
Dr. Maurie D. Pressman
200 Locust Street, Suite 17B
(Society Hill Towers, North)
Philadelphia PA
19106
