Don't you think it's good of me to write a villanelle?
You might not think it just or kind,
But I think this is fine, and just as well.
And how do you like my heart to swell?
When it's my time as poet laureate to find,
Don't you think it good of me to write a villanelle?
And I should on such honored places dwell,
Such accolades from poems so well lined;
I think this is fine and just as well.
You might think it hard for thoughts to gel
in such a proudful and ambitious mind,
but don't you think it's good of me to write a villanelle?
Some poets spill their words, free verse, pell-mell,
and talk of progress, newness, crap of that kind,
but I think this is fine and just as well.
I suppose they haven't tried real verse, the deepest well
into the heart of language, not mere mind,
so don't you think it good of me to write a villanelle?
I think this is fine, and just as well.