So nothing comes to mind for me to tell;
no inspiration fills my head and pen;
I must present a vacant villanelle.
No recollections stop to ring a bell,
or memories to share of life back when;
so nothing comes to mind for me to tell.
It seems at times I've rhyme in ev'ry cell,
but if the words won't build to where I've been,
I must present a vacant villanelle.
At times my liquid thoughts refuse to gel,
and flow through just as water to the glen;
So nothing comes to mind for me to tell.
Gray matter seems inert within this shell;
it nests and rests as if a barren hen;
I must present a vacant villanelle.
There'll be no fragrant flowers in the dell,
or mystic images to enter zen;
So nothing comes to mind for me to tell;
I must present a vacant villanelle.
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