Poem: In death we do NOT die

Clare Harner (not Mary Elizabeth Frye), "Immortality"; PJ, Dhr. Seven (eds.), Wisdom Quarterly

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Do not stand

By my grave, and weep.

I am not there,

I do not sleep —

I am the thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints in snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain.

As you awake with morning’s hush,

I am the swift, up-flinging rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand

By my grave, and cry —

I am not there,

I did not die.

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