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?