A memorial in the Star Tribune one day...

Do not stand at my
grave and weep

I am not there, I do
not sleep

I am the thousand
winds that blow

I am the diamond's
glints upon the
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 birds in
circling flight

I am the soft star
that shines at night

Do not stand at my
grave and cry

I am not there, I did
not die


-Unknown