Thirteen days

Once more,

as it was before

chance comes calling

death is on our doors

what comes will have to go

while we lay out the cots

beneath the mango trees

and watch the children

play in the heat

for thirteen days

the sun sets

on a soul in the wind

we mourn him

and we mourn our destinies

for many more suns

will drown

before we wear our deathly crown

live long enough

you’ll see many more born

only to wilt before the morn.