heart ache

do not stand at my grave and weep.
i am not there i do not sleep.
i am a thousands wind that blow
i am the dimond glints in the snow
i am the sunlight on ripened grain.
i am the gental autum rain
when you awaken in the moring hush
i am the swift up lifiting rush
of queit birds in circled flight
i am the soft stars that shine at night
do not at my grave and cry
i am not there i did not die.