Honouring
Jordan’s Journey

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am the winds that gust across the lake.
I am the glints of snow on the hills above.
I am the sunlight on the rolling grass.
I am the gentle falling rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush
I am the fog hanging low in the sky.
And when you sleep, in the late of night
I am the full moon shining down on you.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.

^{– Adapted by Uncle Michael from a
poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye}