Some are teethed on a silver spoon,
With the stars strung for a rattle;
I cut my teeth as the black racoon--
For implements of battle.
Some are swaddled in silk and down,
And heralded by a star;
They swathed my limbs in a sackcloth gown
On a night that was black as tar.
For some, godfather and goddame
The opulent fairies be;
Dame Poverty gave me my name,
And Pain godfathered me.
For I was born on Saturday--
"Bad time for planting a seed,"
Was all my father had to say,
And, "One mouth more to feed."
Death cut the strings that gave me life,
And handed me to Sorrow,
The only kind of middle wife
My folks could beg or borrow.
Countee Cullen's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Saturday's Child by Countee Cullen )
- Bluegray, Saiom Shriver
- My Still Daughter, LoKis White
- By Another Icarus, Robert Rorabeck
- Lilies Of Lanka, Saiom Shriver
- Fiery Ferment, Saiom Shriver
- ZZ Cowkilling Cowboys Want To Murder Wil.., Saiom Shriver
- The ones we Love, Leroy Numa
- Unriven, Saiom Shriver
- Mid-City's Nursery Rhyme, James B. Earley
- Mum's Birthday, Raghda Ashraf Soliman
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)