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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 |
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(Mary
Elisabeth Fry) |
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