My brain is on strike at the moment, but revisiting some old poems. This is a villanelle, if I remember rightly
Gifts
In my fingers, in my lips,
lie powers of healing and of sleep;
peace is at my finger-tips.
When sorrows salt the sun eclipse,
coolness for your heat I keep
in my fingers, in my lips.
In the healing river dips
bitterness too sere to weep;
peace is at my finger-tips.
Balm to soothe the sting of whips,
oil the troubled waves to sweep,
in my fingers, in my lips.
Lonely passion burns the lips,
love unloved and longing leap –
peace is at my finger-tips.
When your foot with fainting slips,
seek for healing and for sleep
in my fingers, in my lips;
peace is at my finger-tips.
(Marion Pitman)
This is lovely. You are so good at traditional forms – I try to write villanelles but I am never satisfied with them. Strictly this is an unconventional villanelle as they are normally in iambic pentameter, but I like the brevity of this which gives it a sort of ballad/lullaby feeling. Wish I could do this!