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 glint upon the snow, I am the sunlight on ripened grain, You feel me as gentle morning rain. And when you wake in the morning's hush I am the sweet uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled 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. Always around you and his family Ruth Sue Curson