Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep

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.

by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Comments (4)

Outstanding observation and comparison in respect of trees in city as well as in the country side.
In the din of the city life the tree turns silent. Excellent!
Funny how we pay attention to trees when on a walk through the country but barely give a thought to them when walking or driving through the city. Maybe this is what the poet was thinking?
She had many trees to write about living in Maine! !