It feels like I am wading through treacle, Each step a sticky, slow-motion sequel. My shoes are glued, my socks are too, Even my thoughts are stuck like glue.
I try to run, but it’s more of a shuffle, Every move met with a sweet sticky scuffle. The world around me speeds on by, While I’m trapped in this syrupy lie.
Friends wave hello, then quickly disappear, As I trudge along, year after year. But in this molasses, I find some cheer, For life’s sweet moments are always quite near.
So I laugh at my plight, in this treacle-bound tale, And embrace the slow, the sticky, the snail. For in this gooey mess, I’ve found my pace, A humorous journey, in a treacle-filled space.