Touch Wood

He would say 'touch wood' When he was optimistic, expected something good The idea was to avoid the opposite bad And not to let life turn untoward The habit grew chronic His movements became comic He would look around for actual wood Every time his lips whispered 'touch wood' So that he could fast touch Anything wooden in his reach Be that a table or a desk Or even a road-side oak Panic became his companion Helter-skelter he ran With innumerable 'touch woods' To countless trees in the woods And one day he thought long life God would grant But, alas, forgot to mouth his chant A few hours later he died Of heart-attack the doctor certified Well, he didn't know that he ended No 'touch wood' was therefore in order Death to him was not something that ‘happened' Not an experience, so no further panic and shudder The world he died in had him found Lying dead, for no mantra it did utter To it, his death was something that happened So, that was also very much in order