Sitting In My Pot Of Jam - Poem by Kevin East
Sitting in my pot of jam
A Grandma's tight seal between freedom and me.
The air is getting rare and my health is not so fair
Surely it's time for tea.
I used to fly
I used to bee
A friend of miss Felicity
Her wings prematurely cut, so unkind
That thief who stole her from my mind.
Hours can be years if time only guests.
What a waste, what a taste
Callous world bring me back
Summer needs to be pursued
And i haven't long.
Sitting in this fruity mire in blackness
You know i cannot see, as optimism lied to me
If only your eyes could lend me sight
I long for the vision of beauty lost
I'm dying fast, life's flashing past
With minutes left to count the cost.
What an irony what a cemetery
A grave of strawberry jam
And now my friends i am
No better than the trodden on guys.
Tea's too late- Mayfly dies.
Comments about Sitting In My Pot Of Jam by Kevin East
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You