I just love this. I found it in a file tucked back in a corner of the computer. I had bought it at a booth during the Indian Festival held every year at Sycamore park, but never having seen the words before.
I have always longed for knowledge of our American Natives, to be among them and learn who they are. I have Cherokee in my veins. My great-grand-mother was the daughter of the tribal chief I found the name Little Fawn in ancestry research. I am curious to learn more.
I hope you enjoy reading the poem below. I can imagine it being written by a very ancient spiritual native. A shaman is so very wise.
I’m Not Here
Don’t stand by my grave and weep
For I’m not there, I do not sleep,
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamonds glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn’s rain.
When you awaken in morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circle flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand by my grave and cry
I am not there, I did not die.