I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!
I oft wonder how the ball of light and fire not once reels;
Moving with a wondrous flair, the Sun hardly seems hoary.
Oh! Behold the skewing rays of our majestic Sun that wheels!
Who knows what an eye with little knowledge sees?
A xylophone with pink and yellow notes;
Tink, tonk your sounds fly up to the trees.
How can those days wondrous be forgotten,
days when you on me poured your affection?
Didn’t you treat me as if I were your son?
Refrains, they are the quintessential keys
That open up the rhyming Villanelle,
Revealing what the poet’s passion sees.
The nuanced lines, expressive by degrees
Enclosed within the repetition shell;
Refrains, they are the quintessential keys.
Have thou beheld the greatness of this land, my child?
Ours is a realm that none may’ve hitherto usurped.
But this land of brave hearts now diseased stands still, beguiled.
Time determines all the seasons that go.
Were the Sun now ceased, would Moon come this near?
What would transpire were the Sun to vanish, d’you know?