Hoje lembei-me deste poema, que a minha mãe me mostrou após a morte do meu avô. É um poema simples, mas que me transmite muito.
Espero que gostem.
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 sun 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 circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there; I did not die.
Mary Frye
No comments:
Post a Comment
Any madness to share? Make yourself at home.