On Wednesday, the nineteenth day of April 2023, I was asked (challenged, assigned, or prompted) to write a poem about something that scared me or was used to scare me as child and may still haunt me somewhat. Well, nothing fits that memory mold perfectly. But still, they tried.

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When I was young
many things scared me
most of my own invention.
Adult assurances solved nothing.

Death saddened me more then
but not the causes
like diseases, cancer, or stupid.

Yet, I knew well the Hearse Song (or poem)
by the age of seven.
Parents and siblings alike (all dead now)
tried to torment me with recitations.

But I do not recall my fear. Now,
at my advanced age
I find the whole thing ironically humorous.

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Look both ways.
Memory is often as reliable as divination.
Mind the gaps and hysterical historical lapses.

If you want the more musical version: