A Day In the Life of An Aspiring Villanelle Poet
This form repeats too much, I say.
It’s hard to write a villanelle—
I’ll try again some other day.
My rhyme begins without delay;
It’s going fine, then—what the hell?
This form repeats too much, I say.
Doggone it! This is not okay!
I’m under some nefarious spell.
I’ll try again some other day.
But no, I cannot stay away.
I breathe, then smell that same old smell:
This form repeats too much, I say.
I took the bait; I’ve fallen prey;
The crude result I cannot tell—
I’ll try again some other day.
And thus I end this odd ballet.
(I’ve really never danced too well.)
This form repeats too much, I say;
I’ll try again some other day.
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