Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. I am the thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glint on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain. I am the gentle Autumn rain. When you awake in the morning hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there.I did not die. ~Written by Melinda Sue Pacho~Various sources attribute this poem to the one of the following authors:(A) Mary Frye (B) Joyce Fossen (C) An unknown member of the Hobi Native American Tribe "Trig, We loved you in life; We love you still."Momma, Daddy, Denise, Carla, Kelly, Aunt Linda, Aunt Lynn and Damon
Various sources attribute this poem to the one of the following authors:(A) Mary Frye (B) Joyce Fossen (C) An unknown member of the Hobi Native American Tribe
"Trig, We loved you in life; We love you still."
Momma, Daddy, Denise, Carla, Kelly, Aunt Linda, Aunt Lynn and Damon
