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 sunlight 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 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.
Mary Elizabeth Frye (1905 - 2004)
Afterthought
Hang on to your life, or whatever that is left.
From June to October this year, 5 officers from my department have either resigned or being transferred out. A few days ago, 2 more officers have tendered their resignation. In all, more than 40% of the original strength has left without any replacement. The management has been asking the remaining officers to hang on and assured us that help is on its way. Unfortunately, they told us the same thing back in June.
Out of frustration, I made the above poster this morning and pinned it on my workstation. I am not sure what the management will think of it but I really don’t give a damn. I am quite sick of those feel-good posters such as ‘Be Positive’, ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy!’ blah, blah, blah.
5 comments:
thanks for sharing!
this is a very lovely poem. i think i have read it before, a long time ago, and it is still as fresh and inspirational as before.
Yup. They are still the best. :)
that poem is not anonymous...it is written by mary frye and there r 2 versions. u people should really know what u r doing b4 u post anything....my god, how would u feel if someone called a work of yours anonymous after all the thought and work u had placed in it?
the poem is not anonymous. my god, use your brains...mary frye, a great author wrote it.
that is the most disrespect other than plagerism i have ever seen....and u posted for a few hundred to see....shameful
Hi sweetie,
Thank you for pointing this out. :)
From what I understand, there appears to be some conflict over the authorship of this excellent poem. However, it seems that it is now generally attributed to Mary Elizabeth Frye, who wrote the poem in 1932 for a friend who was in grief.
Thus, I will be making the necessary amendment. And please continue to point out the mistakes in my future posts.
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