I am the apple tree in the garden, standing fair.

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am the leaves that whisper in the autumn air,

I am the apple tree in the garden, standing fair.

I am underneath your blanket when it’s cold,

I am watching the sunset by the stairs, shining gold.

I am sitting with you on the terrace at night,

I have become a sculpture, not leaving you out of my sight.

I am all the daisies on the field, glistening white,

I am just a touch away,

Like the warmth of the sun’s ray.

I can feel your gentle touch on my little head,

When once again, I rested in your bed.

When you awaken in the morning’s 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.

Inspired and frame of the poem by Elizabeth Frye.