My father unexpectedly passed away a week ago. While going through his many books, a newspaper clipping with this poem fell out of one:
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 the sun on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morningâ€™s hush
I am the swift uplifting 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.
I can’t help but feel that he’d have wanted me to find it.
The newspaper clipping attributed it to “Author Unknown” but it has since been attributed to Mary Elizabeth Frye.
Who We Were Then
- Maddie (10 years old)
- Aaron (8 years old)
5 replies on “David Allen Blume”
I love that poem so much…and what serendipity that it fell out. *hug*
graves are stone reminders not about where the body has gone but from where the spirit has flown.
Although I don’t know your dad, I wonder if this clipping gave him comfort, too, in his own grief?
Beautiful. Peace and comfort to you and your family David. We mourn with you.
I feel sorry for your dad.