To Alek, a lovely, gentle and kind man. You bore your illness with dignity, stoicism and humour. Knowing you was an honour and a privilege. We hope you like this poem, written by a Navajo chief, that we have chosen for you. Elizabeth might like to read it too: 'Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you waken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die.' With love from Anne and Sophie Wilson xxx.