Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep.


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 awake in in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of 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.

-This poem has always touched me, and especially now.
The poem is by an unknown writer, and it was found in an envelope, left by a soldier who was killed by an exploding mine near Londonderry, Northern Ireland in 1989. It was read out loud the first time by the soldier’s father, just a few weeks before I was born.

In a way, this poem fits my grandmother. She doesn’t wish to be buried at a cemetery, but at a “Memory Park”, which means that we won’t know exactly where she lies, but we’ll know that she, along with others, are resting in that park. Both known and unknown people are buried there, and it’s a memorial. Her name will be there forever, and when we leave flowers for her, they’ll be not just for her, but for everyone there. So we can not stand at her grave and weep, because there won’t be one.

I like this poem, it doesn’t belong to anyone, and it belongs to everyone.

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