[ e t h e r e a l . ]

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 sunlight 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 circle flight
  I am the soft stars that shine at night
 do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die

                    - Mary Elizabeth Frye