Do Not Stand At My Grave And Cry

By's dad sent us the poem from Grandpa's funeral. Here 'tis:

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 the canoeist with a homemade paddle
That breaks the quiet waters on the Oswegatchie.
I am the sunlight on ripen grain;
I am the gentle autumn rain.
I am the wise gentle man that shows our young
About our woods and nature.
When you awaken in the morning hush;
I an the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled 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.


And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find some tissues.