Assignment=Villanelle, relies on rhyme and repetion
Silent Soil From Silent Days
His song is being written by his ways;
for each, but once, may don life’s wings and fly.
One man controls the volume of his days.
A breast so warm, a collar blue, may raise
him to his feet—but soon will wave thereby,
his song is being written by his ways.
His peers and he conquer the world, a phase
where sight becomes so bright, it blinds the eye.
This man controls the volume of his days.
The vice of life so twists as youth betrays—
his well of youth, so opportune, near dry.
His song is being written by his ways.
With desperate fire, his gray will sets to blaze:
too weak, too late, too dry to catch the eye,
this man controlled the volume of his days.
And now, in silent soil from silent days,
cry fools that thought no scythe would make them lie.
Each song is being written by his ways,
One man controls the volume of his days.
2006-11-16
19:56:18
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6 answers
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asked by
Anonymous