Sunday, January 10, 2010

Villanelle

Once the wheel turns, there’s nothing to do
Flowers of spring have all been undone
The past is a hole we fall into.

After the gesture, the doors close on you
Flowers of spring, their decline has begun
Once the wheel turns, there’s nothing to do.

Fixed in its pattern, what was is true
Flowers of spring had beauty bar none
The past is a hole we fall into.

Barely time to consider, barely time to reflect
Flowers of spring, no victory won
Once the wheel turns, there’s nothing to do.

The clock has claimed us, its bell we may rue
Flowers of spring fade in the sun
The past is a hole we fall into.

When night comes, the work is all through
No flowers of spring, not even one
Once the wheel turns, there’s nothing to do
The past is a hole we fall into.

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