Don't stand and cry at my grave
I'm not resting.
I'm one thousand blowing clouds,
I'm the snow-skinned diamonds,
I'm on mature the grain from the sun,
I'm the mild rain of the autumn.
If you wake up early in the morning
I'm the easy rush to raise
Circled migration of silent birds.
At night, I'm the soft stars.
Don't stand and cry at my cemetery,
I haven't been there; I haven't disappeared.
