The Cellar Poem by Nancy L'enz Hogan

Dank earthen surface
hard packed solid, molded to be
a floor of sorts
The mold is creeping well
humming its little song...
Amid the palsied postures of tilty shelves
cling grimed Mason jars
the labeling a cryptic farce, contents
shamming to be
offerings in a pharmacy ...
The old dog's stumbling feet almost
slip through the backless steps -- too steep --
as she labors up the flight
and the cellar pretends to sleep