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 in snow;
I am the sunlight 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 circled flight.
I am the soft starshine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry:
I am not there. I did not die.
Indian Memorial Poem
Today great numbers of family and friends gathered to celebrate the life of Great Uncle George. Amazingly, after the heavy snowstorm last night, the Sun shone upon us.
Uncle George was remembered as a quiet man of deep thoughts. As a farmer, a man connected to the land, the Indian memorial poem selected for him was fitting. And his ethereal presence was evident in the millions of glints upon the blanket of snow.
condolences
ReplyDeletepmc