Honkin On Bobo
536 posts
Dec 18, 2010
9:49 AM
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Do not stand at his grave and weep,
He is not there, he does not sleep.
He is in a thousand winds that blow,
he is the softly falling snow.
He is the gentle showers of rain,
he is the fields of ripening grain.
He is in the morning hush,
he is in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
he is the starshine of the night.
He is in the flowers that bloom,
he is in a quiet room.
He is in the birds that sing,
he is in each beautiful thing.
Do not stand at his grave and weep,
He is not there, he does not sleep.
Do not stand at his grave and cry,
He is not there. He does not die.
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-adapted from the poem Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, by Mary Elizabeth Frye
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