The Quincy
Our Quincy doesn’t love the villanelle.
He thinks it tends towards repetitive crap,
that villanellists all should go to Hell.
But, Quincy, can one not be made to gel
like sounds of shoreline wavelets as they lap?
It’s chancy, but the lovelorn villanelle
is not a kernel—it is just a shell;
it’s not a destination, just a map
where villanellists follow roads to Hell.
But maybe it is really just as well
that someone’s there endeavoring to zap
the “Quincy”—the substandard villanelle—
for in a poet’s brain a single cell
can grow so many Quincies you might snap!
Yes, villanellists all should go to Hell.
But, Quincy, though you have an urge to quell
your namesake, please show tolerance, dear chap,
lest villanellists call to you in Hell:
We Quincy-writers love the villanelle!
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