Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there – I do not sleep.

I am the 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 mornings hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there – I did not die.

I am playing in the meadow. Learning to fly.