Blackbirds don't make good pies. Fill a fruit pie twice as full. Tin coughs, glass gargles, sand swallows. Steal only what you can wear. Two nickels don't ring like a dime.
Saints come in pints, quarts, gallons.
Step on a crack, break your mother's back. Skip one, break your own. Seeds are round. You might not be too far off from what Alberta Turner's work is like. A flag lifts as it passes, a windsock dips.