This poem is written in a verse form called a Villanelle.

In February

The past unfolds before my eyes
doodles wandering across my page:
though love dressed up in a poor disguise

never quite takes me by surprise.
My heart and reason disengage,
our past unfolds before my eyes

headlines of hate which terrorise
my thoughts till I go off the gauge.
Love dresses up in an old disguise,

but I work things out, see through your lies,
sifting history stage by stage
as the past unfolds before my eyes:

the masquerade, the lows and highs
of life inside our circus cage.
Each dressed up in our tired disguise,

every untruth immortalised.
Nothing we do can now assuage
the past which aches behind our eyes,
the love which stands beyond disguise.

© Rebecca Root 2006