Immortality

Do not stand

By my grave, and weep. 

I am not there,

I do not sleep— I am the thousand winds that blow I am the diamond glints in snow I am the sunlight on ripened grain,

I am the gentle, autumn rain. As you awake with morning's hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush 

Of quiet birds in circling flight,

I am the day transcending night.

Do not stand By my grave, and cry- I am not there

I did not die.

— Clare Harner, 1934