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.