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Do Not Stand

Mary Elizabeth Frye

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 sun on ripened grain
I am in gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight
I am the soft star-shine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry
I do not die
I am not there

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