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.