The Last of the Cheyenne

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 sunlight
On the ripened grain.
I am the gentle
Autumn’s rain.

When you awaken
in the morning 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.

—Hopi Prayer