Tasteless Jam
I picked the berries in the burning sun
My skin was scorching, it was no fun
I decided that it was too much work
But unfinished business will always lurk
In my mind, and I can’t stop
Making jam, that tasty glop
I hope for the best
I cannot rest
I do get scared, the flies may infest
But I will put it to the test
I boil the mix and let it thicken
And smell the aromas starting to kick in
I lick the concoction and discover
That the scary fear still hovers
Am I sick, can I recover
Or will my jam stay tasteless forever?
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: