When someone near cries out in pain, we ask where our dear ones are. Let’s keep our minds from straying. Where are our children playing? Death sits in a bush by the river. Silently, death waits by the schoolyard. Death grasps a stick in a doorway, in fact, watching, waiting for a careless act. Everyone should pay attention. Where are your children playing? Death is waiting; best leave nothing to chance. Death has its own ritual; it has its own dance.