A villanelle for Lord Strahd von Zarovich, from Escher.

O my love, will you play a song for me? 
A sweet, sad song—to make your lovers weep. 
A memory of how things used to be. 

On the ramparts of your undying heart 
‘Twas the day my soul became yours to keep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 

The organ in my chest grows cold apart 
From your notes, a sweet wine that burns me deep. 
A memory of how things used to be. 

Whose life must end for you, so ours can start? 
Hers, perhaps. But your love for her runs deep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 

What can I do, but wait for her to part—
And lay upon my bed, engraved, to sleep? 
A memory of how things used to be. 

I was loved once. But all that’s left are scars 
Of the man I was, ‘fore shadows did creep. 
O my love, will you play a song for me? 
A memory of how things used to be.