Author Wilfrid Wilson Gibson This bloody steel Has killed a man. I heard him squeal As on I ran. He watched me come With wagging head. I pressed it home, And he was dead. Though clean and clear I've wiped the steel, I still can hear That dying squeal. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments