Dina’s Smile – A Rondeau Redouble

For Dina’s smile, I’d drive all night again
to be with her who gave me all her time
and waited patient as a night nurse when
my fountain pen was dry and found no rhyme.
 

But now I kiss her lips, full soft, sublime
I taste her words and drink her smile, and then
remember she is gone, long past her prime. . .
For Dina’s smile, I’d drive all night again.
 

She’s nine long years been gone, or is it ten?
To bring her back again would be no crime –
I’d sell my very soul to Satan’s men
to be with her who gave me all her time.
 

Why should I mock, or other poets mime,
when metric skill is way beyond my ken?
She hauled me up when I lacked strength to climb
and waited patient as a night nurse when
 

my soul was lost within the lions’ den,
my heart was filled with hate, more filth and grime
than can be found in Shamanistic Zen –
my fountain pen was dry and found no rhyme.
 

I see my end in quicksand and in lime.
I ask, before the vicar’s last ‘Amen!’,
“For what did I escape the primeval slime?”
The answer lies right here beneath my pen - 
                                            for Dina’s smile.