Treacle

Sickly sickly treacle trickley seeps on, mouldering down the crock. Stickily sticky it steadily, trickily keeps on for many a round of the clock. I wonder I wonder if I would turn green Should I gutsily plunder its festering urn, Or should I desecrate such a picnic-y scene If I’d gently expire or clamorously burn. Quickly quickly treacle slickly Drippily dribbles down onto the floor— ‘Fore I can supply my sick wonder The trickley treacle has trickled off and is no more.