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