that poem

Here it is.  My mom placed it in my jewelry box when I was a teenager. I thought it morbid, but I understand now that she never expected to live long, least of all past the age of 40.  She had me when she was 41.

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 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. 

Isn’t it lovely?  I love this poem.  I have a friend who will come when Mom is gone and will read it at the memorial service.  She’ll be smiling from above when she hears it read.

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