This is Bob.

...vers

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 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.

– Mary Elizabeth Frye, 1932