I can’t remember if I ever posted this before, but it seems appropriate in this season. I don’t write a lot of poetry, and most of it is pretty silly. Sometimes not.

Autumn Villanelle

by Marian Allen

The blooms that fade beneath the frost
were vibrant once and full of scope
but these are never really lost.

The blossoms that were gently tossed
by zephyrs are, on flat and slope,
the blooms that fade beneath the frost.

The ground is hard, though thickly mossed,
and seeds, made solitary, cope;
but these are never really lost.

Upon the ground, leaves lie embossed
by frozen damp. Above them mope
the blooms that fade beneath the frost.

Their still-bright brothers, cut and crossed
by string, hang drying from a rope,
but these are never really lost.

A seedless youth is kept with cost.
From withered heads fall summer’s hope–
the blooms that fade beneath the frost.
But these are never really lost.

A WRITING PROMPT FOR YOU: Write about something that isn’t really lost.

MA