……..The Black Birds Circle Death
The black birds circle death; their hearts are stone.
The worst is sought, the better cast away.
The buzzards pick the flesh away from bone.
There are some men who likewise seek the moan,
Who’re in the hunt for hurt and helpless prey.
The black birds circle death; their hearts are stone.
An error, slip, or fall when it is known,
And some are single-minded, on the way.
The buzzards pick the flesh away from bone.
An open, rotting wound on those who’re prone
Provides a morsel and, for some, their pay.
The black birds circle death; their hearts are stone.
It’s gossip, slander; words that set the tone,
That are the beaks of men which tear and flay.
The buzzards pick the flesh away from bone.
Aromas fill the air, by warm wind blown.
Some favor life; some dwell upon decay.
The black birds circle death; their hearts are stone.
The buzzards pick the flesh away from bone.
———————————————————–
© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2014.
The Bard on the Hill 
I’ve come back to this one – very well written, much to my shame I am yet to write a villanelle.
I love the form of the villanelle. It may be tough to write a great one like “do not go gentle into that good night” but they are fairly easy to write.