Countee Cullen

(30 May 1903 – 9 January 1946 / New York)

Saturday's Child - Poem by Countee Cullen

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.


Comments about Saturday's Child by Countee Cullen

  • Rookie - 184 Points Brian Jani (7/12/2014 4:02:00 PM)

    wonderful piece of fine poetry here.Mr cullen wrote this superbly. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: poverty, silver, sorrow, star, father, pain, death, child, night, time, life, fairy, children



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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