Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark
Shoots dangled and drooped
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes
And what a congress of stinks!
Roots ripe as old bait
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath
Root Cellar was written by Ned Rorem & Theodore Roethke.