Author Wilfrid Wilson Gibson I always meant to make it up with him; And might have done so, even yesterday: But he's escaped me in his artful way; And trapped me, with the healing word unsaid, In an unending quarrel with the dead. Tags Short Poems 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