Villanelle


Once more his fingers tear away at stone,
And soon he will have fashioned forth a heart.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.

How dare you dream in tunes I don=t condone?!
You=ll learn a sober fugue will make you smart!
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.

Not cloth will bear the wear of years outgrown,
But cars that fail a boy=s a boy=s first start.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.

If only his son, before flight, had known
How density in flying plays a part!
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.

Young Zeus would laugh to hear the virgins moan;
His father smiled; conception had been tart.
He is mad, he is mad who pierces bone.

With pain grows love that dying hate has sown.
Forgive the words a turning soul must cart.
Once more his fingers tear away at stone.
He is mad, he is made who pierces bone.