Funereal is a very short poem about a moment of deep silence, and the odd comfort found in it. The speaker, speaking for a group ("we"), describes entering a quiet so complete it feels like being sealed inside an urn, the kind of container that holds ashes. It's a heavy image, and it sets a solemn, hushed tone right away.
Then a small sound breaks in: a crow. Instead of disturbing the quiet, it "took us to the light," as if the bird guides them out of that enclosed, deathlike space. The crow, often linked with death, becomes strangely helpful here.
The last lines turn quietly proud. The speakers call themselves wise for having "no itch to pray." Prayer is treated as a restless urge, and they feel calm without it. The mood is somber but steady, even a little relieved, as though facing loss without religious comfort can bring its own clear peace.