Mary Elizabeth Frye wrote the beautiful poem “Do not stand at my grave and weep” reminding, indeed comforting friends and family of our lost ones, in their grief. No offence is intended for anyone’s personal loss.
But Margaret Thatcher’s death leaves behind a legacy beyond the personal. The damage she inflicted will remain until it is repaired, and repair it we must, as the gap between rich and poor is wider than ever, and so many face poverty, deprivation and despair. My additions/ interpretations reflect that, and indeed you may have your own.
Do not Stand at My Grave and Weep
Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. In Con-Dem-Nation, I survive, Just for the Rich, they'll scrounge and strive! I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. Icily cold, no heating on? Blame Sid, he bought my Gas-Shares con! I am the gentle showers of rain. I am the fields of ripening grain. Workers' sweat, and unions bashed, Fat Cat Profits, billions stashed. I am in the morning hush. I am in the graceful rush Unemployed, no hope, depressed? They're making money - sod the rest! Of beautiful birds in circling flight I am the starshine of the night. The hiding vultures are no chickens, NHS Bones, their tasty pickings! I am in the flowers that bloom I am in a quiet room. My secret's hidden out of reach, Protective treaties we can't breach. I am in the birds that sing. I am in each lovely thing. Off-shore havens out of touch, Easy Money, thanks so much! Do not stand at my grave and cry I am not there, I did not die. You sold your soul, and all for greed, Now I control your every need! See also: Weep not for Thatcher, but for Lost Society