By Mary Elizabeth Frye
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.I am in the morning hush,I am in the graceful rushOf beautiful birds in circling flight,I am the starshine of the night.I am in the flowers that bloom,I am in a quiet room.I am in the birds that sing,I am...
You’re soft like an old t-shirt With worn in sleeves, You pull me in like the tide Of your deep blue sea Your honey hair’s cute Your azure eyes bite. When you play the piano I can see you ignite And then you’re on fire You’re burning the keys. Won’t you set me on fire And then reprise.