Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


CreationEarth Nature Photos


The Quarrel

 The word I spoke in anger 
weighs less than a parsley seed, 
but a road runs through it 
that leads to my grave,
that bought-and-paid-for lot 
on a salt-sprayed hill in Truro
where the scrub pines 
overlook the bay.
Half-way I'm dead enough, strayed from my own nature and my fierce hold on life.
If I could cry, I'd cry, but I'm too old to be anybody's child.
Liebchen, with whom should I quarrel except in the hiss of love, that harsh, irregular flame?

by Stanley Kunitz
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - The QuarrelEmail Poem |
Comment below this ad.

Top Stanley Kunitz Poems

Analysis and Comments on The Quarrel

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem The Quarrel here.

Commenting has been disabled for now.