Frost in the Ground

Frost in the ground makes it hard as iron bound,
How could I be such a deceiving knave?
Death is harder than frost in the ground.

Where is a refuge from my guilt to be found?
My wronged love, how should I now behave?
Frost in the ground makes it hard as iron bound,

Memories do not cease me to surround.
How long will thoughts of my misdeeds enslave?
Death is harder than frost in the ground.

I am shaken by every familiar sound.
Would have my confession to you your life save?
Frost in the ground makes it hard as iron bound,

Grief emerges every day me to confound.
I pray that you before death my betrayal forgave.
Death is harder than frost in the ground.

My perfidy to vows still does me astound.
A thaw has finally come so I can dig your grave.
Frost in the ground makes it hard as iron bound,
Death is harder than frost in the ground.



© Sherman K. Poultney 4 Dec 2005

Notes:
1. A Villanelle
2. Based partly on two sentences in an essay in “The Rural Life” by V. Klinkenborg, p. 205