Michael
Fromme

Von Barbara Stäcker 12.12.2012 um 14:20 Uhr | melden

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 morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye


Ich hoffe, euch hilft dieses Gedicht genauso wie mir. Wir sehen sie alle wieder.
Liebe Grüße
Barbara