This is the poem i'd like to be read at my funeral.
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 sunlight on ripened grain;
I am the gentle autumn rain;
When you awake to greet the dawn
I am the day as it is born;
I am birds in circling flight;
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in each lovely thing.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I have not left.
Modified from its original version by:Mary Elizabeth Frye