N. Regal
Do not stand
By my grave, and weep.
1am not there, I do not sleep-
I am the thousand winds that blow I am the diamond glints in snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle, autumn rain.
As you awake with morning's hush, I am the swift, up-flinging rush Of quiet birds in circling flight, I am the day transcending night.
Do not stand
By my grave, and cry-
I am not there, I did not die.
—Clare Harner, The Gypsy, December 1934

