Gone, I say and walk from church,
refusing the stiff procession to the grave,
letting the dead ride alone in the hearse.
It is June. I am tired of being brave.
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a very sincere write about the dead. yes, death is more like a final sleep to me. the last call to heaven.
Her parents died at roughly the same time as this poem was written so I think it's about her accepting her own mortality: She knows she's going to die and she doesn't want to make a big deal about it