Death does not come ripping this time.

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"We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away   
My labor, and my leisure too,   
For his civility."
("Because I could not stop for Death" lines 5-8)

When Death comes, you stop. It won't hurry to come to you. It'll come to you whenever it does. Because Death is kind enough to only come when it is time, you should respect it, put your work and play on hold, and go with Death. That's the way I've always interpreted this poem. It's such an odd characterization of Death, but it's a neat one considering how it is labeled as kind and patient throughout the poem.


Jeanine O'Neal said:

I like the way you put that. Death is one of those sudden things, and if you spend your whole life worrying about it, you'll be miserable.

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