FIN
Following is the poem that I wish to be spoken at my funeral (modified from the original by Mary Elizabeth Frye).
“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 sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn rain;
When you awake to greet the dawn
I am the day as it is born;
I am birds in circling flight;
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.”