We cannot beat the words we have read, So this is for Linda, an Epitaph instead. 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 mornings 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. By Mary Elizabeth Frye.