A Villanelle

[Rob]

The flow of life runs fast,
Runs torrid amidst the mist,
Its streams the earth damask

We squint through this dun glass,
To swim a path in this,
That happ’ly we be cast.

But blind-birthed to a caste
Our route doth madly twist,
To make us Fortune’s ass.

‘Til aged arms, amassed
Do grope to find the kiss
That iron might be cast

And with it stand at last
With courage in the fist,
To troubles guide us past

Man’s foils may be surpassed,
But the goal is truly missed
Lest woman’s hand we grasp,
And share our paths, and pass.