A quart and a half of raspberries came home with me yesterday, and later that day I turned them into jelly. Ever since, a little jingle my mother and her sisters used to sing has been stuck in my head. I hereby release it from my head to yours, Internet, in the hopes that it will leave me alone:
Old man Kelly had a pimple on his belly.
His wife bit it off and it tasted like jelly.
If that pimple pus tasted anything like my raspberry-peach preserves, Mrs. Kelly is a wise woman.