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's rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling 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.
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's rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling 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.
This one rings a bell
This one rings a bell
Clare Harner, 1934. It's mostly commonly used as a bereavement poem. I heard it was written to honor of the fallen soldiers of WW1.
My grandfather read it at his fathers funeral, my father at my grandfathers, and I have made a promise to read it at my fathers.
Clare Harner, 1934. It's mostly commonly used as a bereavement poem. I heard it was written to honor of the fallen soldiers of WW1.
My grandfather read it at his fathers funeral, my father at my grandfathers, and I have made a promise to read it at my fathers.
Excellent tradition
Excellent tradition
(post is archived)