There's no more to be done, or feared, or hoped;
None now needed to sort, or throw, or lift and tire;
No packing done, no printing forms no masking tape
Do they require.
Blankly we gaze. We are free to go or stay;
Our morrow's anxious plans have missed their aim;
Whether we leave to-night or wait till day
Counts as the same.

The last left items that once were treasured
Seem asking wherefore we have set them here;
Each piece of clothing, shoe or toy presents itself
As useless gear.

And yet we feel that something savours well;
We note a numb relief withheld until they tell of 
arrival on distant shore Our well-beloved family 
safe until we meet once more. 

We see by littles now the deft achievement
Whereby they have escaped the rat race all
In view of which our momentary bereavement
Outshapes but small.

Adapted from Thomas Hardy After the Last Breath