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.