When you are sorrowful, |
look again in your heart, |
and you shall see that |
in truth you are weeping |
for that which has been |
your delight |
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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 the ripened grain. |
I am the gentle Autumn's rain. |
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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. |
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