As it’s Sunday, I desire to prey

Hand knitted as my villanelle today
My language has got stuck in some time past
Being Sunday, I desire to prey

My  sentence hangs  like washing spread on hay
My language needs some air in a great blast
Arthritic is my villanelle today

Hunting, fighting,making an affray
I make the Headlines look like worms  outcast
Being Sunday, I desire to prey

My main emotion is a  proud dismay
I was not worthy of the National Trust
Cosmetic is my villanelle today

If only Princess Di had  turned men gay
The Prince and all his courtiers’ could not fuss.
Grieving Sunday, I desired to pray

If only bread was made to heal the curse.
And wine was poured to calm all human breasts
Comedic was my villanelle, in play
Oh, life is sweet, I  love my lady gay