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Sunday, February 16, 2014

when I die

When I cross over,
I do not want any of you
to visit my grave.
I won't be there.
I will be alive
in the books you read,
riding the wind
that causes your hair to stir,
dancing in the flame
upon your candles,
living within the song
that brings back yesteryear.
Do not cry for me.
Celebrate my new beginning.
The caterpillar is gone,
the cocoon is empty,
the butterfly is free.
Look for me in the fields of flowers,
listen for my whispers in the wind.
Do not miss me.
I will be with you
Look in your heart for that is where I will reside.

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