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The Tyrant's Fall (A Rigid Villanelle)
In pools of riches golden brown,
A portly king sat, hand in hair.
He often fiddled with his crown.
"He was a kindly king" in town
They said of him; he now sat There,
In pools of riches golden brown.
The people let him beat them down,
The taxes paid were heavy fare,
He often fiddled with his crown.
One day the king tripped on the down,
He fell face first behind a mare,
In pools of riches golden brown.
The people set to beat him sound,
They sent him to a dungeon where
He often fiddled with his crown.
What joy in kegs of beer did drown,
The cit'zens with their own affair.
In pools of riches golden brown,
King often fiddled with his crown.
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Poetry: Villanelles
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