The Incentive

Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn

 Next Poem          

I saw a sickly cellar plant
Droop on its feeble stem, for want
Of sun and wind and rain and dew --
Of freedom! -- Then a man came through
The cellar, and I heard him say,
"Poor, foolish plant, by all means stay
Contented here; for -- know you not? --
This stagnant dampness, mold and rot
Are your incentive to grow tall
And reach that sunbeam on the wall."
-- Even as he spoke, the sun's one spark
Withdrew, and left the dust more dark.

Next Poem 

 Back to Sarah Norcliffe Cleghorn
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry and subscribe to My Poetic Side ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors Weekly news

To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.