As a mom of nine children the one thing I have always feared is that when I die no one will remember for anything but the fact that I have nine children. Will anyone remember who I really was on the inside, the things I loved, the things that made me unique? I ran across a poem today that I thought was just lovely and I wanted to post it here. This is one thing I would like my children to remember.
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 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 quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Written by Mary E. Frye, 1932
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