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Submitted: 11/9/13 • Approved: 11/9/13 • Last Updated: 11/12/13 • R947285-G0-S3
June 13, 1922 - February 26, 1987
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's 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 star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there; I did not die.
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He was bound to the land from the day of his birth
His roots anchored deep in the fertile earth
Nurtured, sustained, by the soil he grew
And his life, like his furrows, ran straight and true.
In Faith each spring, he planted the seeds
In hope, to reap for his family's needs
With patience, he waited for the harvest to come
To gather the fruits of his labor home.
Ever turning seasons, the years sped past
Till the final harvest came at last
Then claimed anew by beloved sod
He was gathered home to be with God.
Contributed on 11/9/13 by ashaw444
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Record #: 947285