The Villanette

The hand of death is knocking at my door;
It chose to interrupt my villanelle
With one last line to write and nothing more.

My youth was filled with time to waste galore;
The words they rang so quickly like a bell.
The hand of death is knocking at my door.

My thoughts they come more slowly than before;
The ink is running shallow in my well
With one last line to write and nothing more.

I long again to pace about the floor
The way I used to find the words so well.
The hand of death is knocking at my door.

Oh dear, I fear the loss forevermore.
So soon I near the fate like those befell
With one last line to write and nothing more.

The knocks are getting louder at my door;
I fear my time is near.  Oh villanelle!
The hand of death is knocking at my door
With one last line to write and nothing more.

— Dean Hall