Mehmet T. Oner

Do not stand by 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 the morning’s hush

I am the swift upflinging 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.