Down the whinding road,

In the town square,

Salemen live, oh there everywhere!

 

Shops of trinkets odd,

Bobs, and bits of every shape,

Shoes, clothes, flowers and duck-tape.

 

But wait, over in the corner there,

Built poorily, old and rundown,

The roof bent the structure not sound.

 

Oh over there, is a strange shop,

Indeed, there be none like this one,

Gray and shabby outside, inside treasures by the ton!

 

"Step inside, I dare you!"

That be every little boys dare,

But meet their match in there I swear.

 

 Squeakk, Creaks the door as he sneaks inside,

Looking 'round in the dark interory,

Nothing be seen, which makes it all the more scarrier.

 

A  hand shoots out,

A scream,

A gleam.

 

The lights snap on,

The door closes hurriedly,

A figure tall stands intimidatingly.

 

"What do thee seek, lad?"

Croaks the hunched old man,

"Look around you can-

 

But be sure not to linger long,

For everything is antique here,"

And so he brung up the rear.

 

The little boy gulped but looked around,

And to his amazement, he did not see,

Shoes are coats, or flowers or even desks of ebony.

 

But jars, all in a row,

Thousands by thousands of jars all empty,

On shelves that covered the walls completely.

 

Some big,

Some tall,

Some small.

 

Some shaped like hearts,

Some like a certain letter,

Some more like tubs of butter.

 

Some red,

Some blue,

Some grey, green and purple too.

 

Some shiny,

Some dull,

Some as hard as a skull.

 

But yet, none interested him,

All were plain, all were not right,

If only he could view the top shelf, which was just out of sight.

 

He scanned the room for anything he could use

Ah ha! A latter, long and tall,

For once, he'd see them all.

 

Up, up, up.

To the highest shelf,

Only thinking of the glory  of himself.

 

All thoughts vanished,

As something ahead glowed,

And a Jar sat, filled with something black that flowed.

 

Flowed out like mist,

Like fog in the spring,

Like the smock from pipes puffed out in rings.

 

Climbing towards him did the black fog go,

He cried, but nothing came out, no not nothing,

Nothing but the gasp of his last breath choking.

 

The smoke consumed him,

In one final curl of smog,

Of this Mysterious Jars fog.

 

The Jar Salesmen chuckled,

In this cruelty he did delight,

And with that he turned off the weak shedding light.

 

The Mysterious Jar closed,

Its lid it had sealed,

For in the dark it kept concealed.

 

The Jar Salemen cooed,

To his blood-thirsty jar,

From all his possestions he loved this one by far.

 

The Mysterious jar gurgled,

It having his treat,

Nothing of the boy was left, not even his feet.

 

"There, there my old friend,"

Said the Jar Salesmen with a wicked grin,

"You'll get more, sooner or later, you'll get more like him."