A Jam Fish sat on a hard-bake rock,
His head in his left hand fin,
He was knitting his wife a sky-blue sock
With a second-hand rolling pin.
His wife was watching her old Aunt Brill
Sew acid drops on to his shirt,
While his grandmother fitted a caramel frill
To a Butterscotch tartan skirt.
His cousin Jelly Fish gently swam
In a pool of parsley sauce,
While the Jam Fish sighed, ‘I am only Jam,
And must wait for the second course.
When the rice mould quivers on the dish,
And shakes at the children’s sneers,
Till the scented voice of the old Jam Fish
Shall melt their scorn to tears.’