The Cellar
Faintly lit by a high-barred grating, The low-hung cellar, Flattens itself under the house.
In one corner There is a little door, So low, it can scarcely be seen.
Beyond, There is a narrow room, One must feel for the walls in the dark.
One shrinks to go To the end of it, Feeling the smooth cold wall.
Why did the builders who made this house, Stow one room away like this?
John Gould Fletcher