The Cellar Poem by Elia Michael
The Cellar
In our house there was a cellar
Our dad painted it long ago
For a while I was a dweller
In the cellar down below
I did not like sleeping down there
I was only a child and scared
I hated the damp and stale air
I’d have complained if I’d dared
All the family hated it
But we were being hospitable
That is why we were in the pit
Our guests were not miserable
If I seem to be ungracious
Do keep in mind I was a child
Our little house was not spacious
Enough for me to run wild
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 4:53:53 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Very good, an interesting glimpse of childhood. I too can relate since I, as one of 11 children, was relegated to a sheep-crate in the field during hot summer days in the North- country of Canada. I loved it since it was the only time I got a room of my own. Read my - I Cannot Return - Adeline