Best Quintains Poems

I’ve never been to Sicily, and yet
it’s always felt a part of me.  Who knows?
Another life, another alphabet?
Alongside Archimedes, jotting prose
in Agrigentum I, with each vignette,

imbibing wine, as bitter as regret,
harangued the hellene farmers, stoning crows.
That Greek me – did I tend (as now)...

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I can just barely count to five,
Let alone try and track my rhyme.
I hope my last line can revive,
Some humor before I’m out of time.
But I feel like Quintains are a crime....

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