Games And Superstitions: A Song Poem by Charl JF Cilliers

I was born on the thirteenth night
of a cold July
I know Death’s lurking out of sight
don’t ask where or why

hopscotch, hopscotch, jump into squares
never touch a line
Death is carried down flights of stairs
in boxes made of pine

walking down crowd-filled city streets
don’t step on a crack
Death lies under damp, crumpled sheets
breathless on his back

stand in the rain and count your pain
as drops fall on your skin
each telling you life’s not a game
still you hope you’ll win

so play your games with all your might
don’t ask how or why:
Death who is lurking out of sight
will be coming by and by.