we wait in hopefilled vigil

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 sunlight on ripened grain.  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning’s hush 
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry;  

I am not there. I did not die.  

-Mary Elizabeth Frye 



Crane Fishin’ by T. Schuil at the 20th Annual Art Exhibition by Michigan Prisoners