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Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain.
Tender memories, so fragile and clear, revokes my heartache for you to be near. You held me up as far as the sky, but you are not here now, oh, how I cry.
Her hair was up in a pony tail, Her favorite dress tied with a bow. Today was Daddy's Day at school, And she couldn't wait to go.
I do now know who you are, but I know just how you died. Awash with crimson boyhood blood a heart that never cried. A name that's long forgotten a stone I view each year.
Bury me under a willow A weeping willow tree There'll be no need to grieve my love, The tree will cry for me Just give a thought to the good times we had in days gone by, fill your mind with happy...
The lighter flickers for a moment before a strong flame lights his pipe. He breathes out the smoke and his hand stops shaking.
In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row, That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below.