Unknown Native American Author

Don’t stand by my grave and weep,
For I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond’s glint on snow,
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
In the soft hush of the morning light
I am the swift bird in flight.
Don’t stand by my grave and cry,
I am not there,
I did not die.