Do not come to my grave and cry Look up instead toward the sky For wings of white as they fly by. Don't come to stand and weep or bring Dying flowers. Instead please sing A song or feel the autumn wind As is blows past your tender cheek. That is me. I am not asleep. I'm in the rain on summer days. I'm with the children as they play. I have not gone so far away. Look among stars shinning at night. See me riding on rays of light Gently brushing leaves. Watch a flight Of Snow White Doves. They always tease My soul, and then so softly weave It through clouds of white, over seas, Under the breeze, and far above The trees, knitting like yarn my love. I'm there on the wings of a dove. Do not visit my grave and weep. Sandra Van Ripe