Writing a Sestina

After recently revisiting sestinas in an un-recent book of poems, I decided to give this rather complex form a try. In case you’d like to do the same, the unrhymed pattern goes like this:

• ·      Thirty-nine lines
• ·       Six stanzas (verses)
• ·       Six lines ending in six words that rotate in end-line position before completion in a tercet or envoy of three lines using all six words

Confusing? Yes, but seeing how the end-line pattern goes will help:

1. ABCDEF

2. FAEBDC

3. CFDABE

4. ECBFAD

5. DEACFB

6. BDFECA

7. (envoi) ECA or ACE

Since I decided to write a sestina about life in a more trusting time, I needed six words able to support the poem’s sounds, sense, and meaning, so I went into a stream-of-consciousness mode, let groups of relevant words come to me, then wrote them down without censoring myself. Any adjustments needed became obvious after the poem got underway.

If I had adhered strictly to traditional rules, the end-line words would repeat according to the above pattern. However, some poets (myself included) use occasional substitutes with similar sounds. Therefore, with slight variations, these six words got me going:

 

A – gathered, B – yard, C – over, D – song, E – laughter, F – home

 

Clover Chains

On Summer evenings when children gathered

like bees on white clover in our front yard,

we joined hands and sang, “Red Rover, come over,”

but I don’t remember the end of that song.

We played, and we sang amidst peals of laughter

until the stars flickered, and Some called them home.

 

Neighborhood kids showed up at our home –.

outdoors or in – where young children gathered

and even the shyest child dropped her guard.

A small record player turned out favorite songs,

and we danced until the music was over.

 

No one was eager for playtime to be over,

nor be in a rush to hurry on home.

I wish I’d remember the end of the song.

I wish I could be where young children gather

and play in white clover on their front yards.

I wish this deep hush would ring out with laughter.

 

But we grew up, unsure of what’s after

with our carefree hours of fun feeling over

and white clover wilting on Some other’s yard.

We bought our own homes, sought unlimited loans,

had children in game rooms where young adults gathered,

but few could remember the words to the song.

 

Discordant music seemed harmoniously wrong,

and sharp wit and irony dulled levity and laughter.

In polarized groups young people gathered,

wondering if, soon, the world would be over

or if someone would rob our well-guarded homes

where bees seldom wandered into manicured yards.

 

Sometimes the changes in life seem too hard

to remember the words to harmonious songs.

Yet love still abides in the happiest homes,

filled with good grace and mercy and laughter

until, silent, the breath of this life is over,

and we find peace where loved ones have gathered.

 

Surely, angels, with heavenly song, will gather

to welcome us home, calling out, “Come on over!”

as clover-filled yards await our sons and daughters.

©2025/04, Mary Harwell Sayler with photo of my very rough draft