I shall not sigh for the things that were mine
Of the tasks I must leave undone,
Nor fret when the winter winds blow cold
And the dark clouds cover the sun.
Nor long for the first bright daffodil
Or the shrill sweet call of a bird.

For I shall be part of the bud and the leaf,
Of the grass beneath your feet;
Part of the dust from whence I sprung
Until time and forever meet.

Be content, for I know that the night will pass
And the dawn will come breaking through,
The flowers will awake on the green hillside
And I shall awaken too.

Author Unknown,  shared by Jean Culham.