In Salisbury, en route to the famed cathedral, we chanced upon a lovely store that sold all sorts of charming knicknacks. They also had a collection of intriging books two of which Tim and I bought just for keepsakes, for posterity. I present here the text of one of those books, a poem anonymously authored and left by a soldier killed in Ulster ‘to all my loved ones’. Six years later, on Remembrance Sunday ‘95, it was read by his father on the BBC provoking a deluge of requests from viewers for copies of the poem. It is accompanied by beautiful and sensitively rendered monochrome pictures but unfortunately I am only able to reproduce the text here, so.
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Anonymous
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 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 cirled 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.
