A poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye Do not stand at my grave and weep I am no 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 wake in the mornings hush I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds of circled flight, I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not here; I did not die.