The Villanette

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.