The Waltz

So asked to write a Villanelle, and in the meantime trying to utilise the iambic trimeter...stuff the technical terms. Another piece for my creative writing degree. Honest criticism would be appreciated.

Our Music-Box Dancer,

a spinning top of pearl

fanned out to ‘Moon River’.


Pallbearers lowering

a box of bones and curls:

our Music-Box Dancer.


She waltzed an oiled pine floor,

dress spinning like a bell

fanned out to ‘Moon River’.


An Owl recited for her

a song of Nightingales

for Music-Box Dancers.


The Cellist wept to catch her.

Like rain, high fiddles fell

cutting breath from ‘Moon River’.


Hand pressed dirt does cover

the oak stage where she dwells.

Sleep Music-Box Dancer

twirling last to ‘Moon River’.

The End

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