For Sharvan.

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

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I did not know her personally, and I know nothing more about her than what I saw on her armory. Yet knowledge of her passing brings such sadness in me that I have been weeping for the last hour. I don't know when BRK is holding a running of the bulls, but I won't miss it now.