Now, O now, in this brown land
Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.

A rogue in red and yellow dress
Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.

Now, O now, we hear no more
The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.

Anything's possible?
I challenge that
if I'm not right
I'll eat my hat

a palindromic pantoum?
or pantoumic palindrome?
would you find it in
a poetry tome?

the proverbial pig
that can fly?
a snowball fight
in July?

a vilanelle
with no repeat?
now that would be
an awesome feat

an honest politician?
(not for long)
but then they all
can do no wrong

a rolling stone covered
with moss?
around one's neck
a real albatross?

a snowball in...
well you know where?
a true challenge
I do declare

a serious word
when I'm this daft?
doubt it, bloke
that's a different craft