Villainous Nell and Her Villanelle

Oh, there ne’er was a villain like Villainous Nell,
iniquitous poet, and quick to offend,
and all that she loved was her villanelle.

Her poetry grates like a banshee’s yell,
and no one could like it, nor even pretend,
for there ne’er was a poet like Villainous Nell.

The rhymes and the rhythms seemed tortured in hell,
but beautiful sonnets could never contend,
for all that she loved was her villanelle.

The townsfolk all plotted how best to expel
this fiendish reciter, or how to defend
their poor, suffering ears from that Villainous Nell.

When at last they arrested this cruel damoiselle,
she clutched to her breast the foul ode she had penned,
for all that she loved was her villanelle.

So now she just waits, all locked up in her cell,
scrawling more poems, awaiting her end,
for there ne’er was a villain like Villainous Nell,
and all that she loved was her villanelle.