Wednesday, November 19, 2008

a beautiful poem

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905-2004).


Living the Dream said...

I cannot believe you put that up- I love that poem. It is on my grandfather's memorial card.

Anonymous said...

Some day when my last line is written
Some day when I've drawn my last breath
When my last words on earth have been spoken
and my lips are sealed in death

Don't look on my cold form in pity
Don't think of me as one dead

It will just be the house I once lived in
my spirit by then will have fled

I will have finished my time here alotted
But I won't be in darkness alone
I will have heard from Heaven
the summons to come on home

and when my body is in the grave
know that my last earnest prayer
is that my loved ones be ready
some day to join me there