My father wept from beyond the grave
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
My dear children, hear me now:
I lived ninety-two full years,
yet you kept your distance, as if I were not here.
Still, I remained; I never left your side.
I gave you what I could
and carried you through your hardest days.
I sheltered you from a merciless world—
the same world I must now leave behind.
Through loneliness, heartbreak, and every burden,
while wet snow filled my worn brown boots,
I counted each of you—all seven—
with faces lowered over bowls of soup.
I was there, watching without a word.
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
For thirty long years, my children turned away.
No evening of hymns or whispered prayers
could bridge the silence between us.
Now my long journey has reached its end.
Do not stand beside my grave and cry.
Seek shelter when the storm arrives.
Let the clouds release their grief for me
as rivers and ravens offer their solemn tribute.
Do horses tremble at rain and thunder?
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
The fog enfolds my resting place like a soft white veil.
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