Let us quarrel for these reasons:
You detest the salt which seasons
My speech . . . and all my lights go out
In the cold poison of your doubt.
I love Shelley . . . you love Keats
Something parts and something meets.
I love salads . . . you love chops;
Something goes and something stops.
Something hides its face and cries;
Something shivers; something dies.
I love blue ribbons brought from fairs;
You love sitting splitting hairs.
I love truth, and so do you . . .
Tell me, is it truly true?
Quarrel
Elinor Morton Wylie
(1)
Poem topics: truth, blue, speech, face, cold, doubt, true, poison, I love you, I miss you, love, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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