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.
Poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye
In loving memory of my grandfather, Mansur Mulyakusumah (6 February 1938-15 June 2006)
Today would be my grandpa's 76th birthday. Somehow, I think if my grandpa could choose a poem about his own death, he would choose this.
I miss you, Dear Grandpa. I know you are up there in the better place with God, being a pious, honest, and intelligent person you were :)