IRC-Galleria

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a 1,000 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 awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush. Of quiet birds in circled light, 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 -Mary Frye (1932)