Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
Even before finding Buddhism, I have always loved this poem. None of us ever truly die; not only do our bodies, in returning to earth, find new life in trees and animals, but we live on in the memories of those who knew us and in the good deeds we performed when alive. Each of us live on through our karmic actions. There is no such thing as death, only transformation.