коллегам|близардовская поэзия
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I'm not there, I do not sleep.
I'm in a thousand winds that blow,
across Northrend's bright and shining snow.
I'm the gentle showers of rain,
on Westfall's fields of golden grain.
I'm in the morning hush,
of Stranglethorn's jungle, green and lush.
I'm in the drums loud and grand,
the thunderous hooves across Nagrand.
I'm the stars warlmly gleaming,
over Darnassus softly dreaming.
I'm in the birds that sing,
I'm in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I'm not there. I do not die.