Do not stand at the grave and weep, She is not there, she does not sleep. She is in a thousand winds that blow, she is the softly falling snow. She is the gentle rain, she is the fields of ripening grain. She is the morning hush, she is the graceful rush Of beautiful birds in circling flight, she is the star shine of the night. She is the flowers that bloom, she is in a quiet room. She is the birds that sing, She is in each lovely thing. Do not stand at her grave and cry, She is not there. She does not die. xxx