I'll not stand at your grave and weep.
You're not there; you do not sleep.
You're the thousand winds that blow,
You're the diamond glints on snow,
You're the sun on ripened grain,
You're the gentle autumn rain.
When I awaken in the morning's rush
You're the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
You're the soft stars that shine at night.
I'll not stand at your grave and cry,
You're not there; you did not die.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The gentle autumn rain talks here. Amazing poem on birth and death..10