I am a thousand winds that blow;
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle summer rain.
When you awake in the morning hush;
I am the swift, uplifting rush.
Of quiet birds in circling flight;
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not look to my grave and cry;
I am not there, I didn't really die.
by Clinton Armstrong
Ron