Oh Villanelle
By S. Joan Popek

Oh Villanelle, you wraith from hell.
Just nineteen lines of wretched rhyme.
For verse that suits, my soul I'd sell.

What rhymes? Which works? I must excel!
The French, I curse throughout all time.
Oh Villanelle, you wraith from hell.

From heated pit wherein you dwell,
your icy flame reflects the clime.
For verse that suits, my soul I'd sell.

Bewitch my mind, you dark demoiselle.
My soul you sear with fiery slime.
Oh Villanelle, you wraith from hell.

Poor pen laments from black inkwell,
immerse, immerse for verse must chime.
For verse that suits, my soul I'd sell.

Cold Queen, you weave your dark love spell,
your spell is cast, your lure sublime.
Oh Villanelle, you wraith from hell.
For verse that suits, my soul I'd sell.