here i am alone again
one in my bed
two on the floor
one on the couch.
bob was on the other but
i told him he would feel
less pain (in the neck)
in the morning
if he
went tot bed.
He packed up the music and
took it with him.
I am still up and at the moment
don't have any real intent on
going to bed.
I took the opportunity to
play the full version of
soon to be innocent fun/lets see
the people upstairs are showering
and i can't tell if i like that feeling or
if i hate it.
With an encouragement to
stay up all night tomorrow
i feel like the only thing
i should do
is sleep
but i don't want to
even if all the others
are sleeping
themselves.

031297

Mary Elizabeth Frye.

they read this at her "life-celebration". he'd said she read it somewhere and put it up on the fridge. I never noticed it when I was there, so she must have put it up once she knew she was leaving.

Today i found out who wrote this poem. The time that he read it the true author of the poem was being disputed. She was a one time poet. A housewife and florist. I smiled when i saw they shared the same name.

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 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.