
The ones I remember.
I remember though grown to know,
That all is for love to show,
Where they instill fear in us as we grow,
As a kid to bestow.
"Don't bathe on rainy days,
If you don't want a thunderous slap to pay,"
They will say.
I remember though grown to know,
It is for the cold,
That they superstitionize us to fold.
"Those who walked barefoot,
Gigantic legs are only to the root,"
They will say as you walk a route.
I remember though grown to know,
It is the safety of sharp objects,
That they subject us to subject.
"Don't wash out late at night,
As a snake that sips soap will be our knight,"
They will say seeing you in sight.
I remember though grown to know,
It is to caution us to wash before nightfall,
That they superstitize us as a freight.
"Don't eat sitting at the doorway,
in order not to eat all but still stay hungry that day,"
They will warn in a way.
I remember though grown to know,
It is only because it is unfit,
That they superstitionize us to erase the habit.
"Don't eat while standing again,
If you don't want food storing in your legs,"
They warned in the main.
I remember though grown to know,
Eating while standing won't give you elephant legs,
Talk less peglegs.
They are such superstitions,
That we cherish in caution,
The ones I remember.