Obituary of Bryson Jo McLean Finlay

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 glint on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awake in the morning hush, I am the swift, uplifting rush, Of quiet birds in circling flight. I am the soft starlight at night. Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.