Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

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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 :)