To the superstitious, I'm worse than a shot of caffeine, But stop by a generous bakery and you might find luck unforeseen. I’ve deleted entire floors with my ominous sheen, Yet I'm just a number - what do YOU think I mean?

One dressed in black, a modern tribe of gloom and song; the other sacked Rome in four hundred years before Christ, forging a kingdom in Iberia. Same ancient name they share, who are these shadowed cousins?

I come before events unfold, An omen in the air. I whisper hints of things untold, Foreshadowing despair.

What's in my pocket? I'll give you a hint: The head of a fork, an unwrapped mint A lexical invention, Fortuna's balm And grease for the crease of Charon's palm

found underground, and put in fire to be molded, my shine will last throughout time. people wear me, on special occasion they share me, while some will just take me by force. my name is my color, it is no white or rose, but those are others I know.