The Liquorice Jar
By Sem H
Five grams of strong, Dutch, liquorice.
But to me,
They seem like black gold.
Crouching on the top shelf
Like a lion on its hind legs
Standing tall and proud as if nothing could touch it.
Then my little greedy hand searches as far as it can
Only to just get the tips of his fingers
Snatching the jar close to his chest.
The only sounds coming from the room down the hallway
Are the sounds of little teeth
Munching on the sweet
Liquorice.
