The moment it returned

 

Then, suddenly, I wrote a villanelle 

before the moment that the sonnets came,

and, to my amazement, I did it well.

I thought the Muse had destined me to Hell,

that for my writings all I earned was shame,

then, suddenly, I wrote a villanelle.

I thought that time had me under a spell,

for which my acts alone should bear the blame,

and, to my amazement, I did it well.

You don’t expect the stories that you tell

bear actual truth. I felt the very same

then, suddenly, I wrote a villanelle.

It wasn’t that I had nothing to tell,

but that all of my horses had gone lame,

and, to my amazement, I did it well.

To my surprise, there was a sudden swell

of rhyming words, and a returning flame,

then, suddenly, I wrote a villanelle,

and, to my amazement, I did it well.