She wears a little gown,
her body feels so cold.
Soaked up by the water,
like the stories- untold.

Here and there with some scars,
her hands so violet.
It's the end that she chose,
It's too late to regret.

Her eyes are wide open,
the look she has is sad.
No desire to live,
She chose to be dead.

Don't 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.