I try my hand at a Rondeau poem; subject: time travel and its lingering impact.
The first time he died was May,
a gorgeous, sumptuous day.
Spring's promise rung hollow
for we few left, lost in sorrow,
so I fled back to find another way.
Late fall was my next assay.
My grief, grown dull, now grazed.
Still painful, it mockingly echoed
the first time he died.
At last cool December assuaged:
my woe, the year, and I grown gray.
His final funeral, wreathed in snow,
failed to stir, nor tears unfroze.
Love's husk alone could tribute pay
the first time he died.
This poem is written in the Rondeau style; the rentrement consists of the first few words or the entire first line of the first stanza, and it recurs as the last line of both the second and third stanzas. A pentimento is a "a reappearance in a painting of an original drawn or painted element which was eventually painted over by the artist," (Merriam-Webster).