Shakespeare says...

We will stipulate going in that I am certifiably bonkers, notably because this is the first time I've attempted a sestina, and (as Our Hostess and the astute reader will discern) I imposed an extra layer of challenge on the structure. [This required wading fairly deeply into the back posts in order to establish the sixth keyword.] I will also observe for the record that, although the recently shortened title for Book Four is probably much better for marketing purposes, it makes life decidedly more interesting for would-be writers of sestinas.

Now, then:

Musings On October

The tale begins with rosemary and rue,
The one for memory, the other, honor,
The former grown by day, its mate by night.
(Think how remembrance dimmed once darkness fell
And how the shadow of regret eclipses
All brighter passions in night’s habitation.)

Who, though, may map a local habitation
Foreseeing that the road may lead to rue?
More often, evil circumstance eclipses
Benign intent, unravels bonds of honor,
Obscures the path with fog that lately fell,
Transforming fairest day to foulest night.

And yet, it is an artificial night
That cannot long sustain its habitation,
For dawn succeeds the dark whene’er it fell.
Who tries to break that cycle’s sure to rue
Such rough assault on morning’s maiden honor
When light prevails against the shade’s eclipses.

We can but wonder where these late eclipses
Arise within the deep expanse of night;
What shadowed scion dares assault the honor
Of those who choose the daylight’s habitation?
We must trace shadow’s source, else we may rue
Our lack of vigilance toward foes most fell.

We’ll face the threat upon the brightest fell,
For hope’s bold flag the foe’s despair eclipses,
And passion’s strength sweeps o’er the flowering rue,
Seeding a garden proof against the night,
Whose beauty shields our chosen habitation,
Yet, freely growing, blooms in nature’s honor.

The shadow, beaten, sheds ashes of honor
Behind it, leaves its minions where they fell
As it slinks back to its own habitation.
At least for now, the sky’s done with eclipses;
Day will be day, the night shall cleave to night,
And we may harvest rosemary and rue.

In time will evil come to rue its honor,
Break free of night again to haunt the fell.
Watch for eclipses from your habitation.

I applaud you, sir.

Sestina! Awesome!

And certifiably bonkers. But we already stipulated that....

Actually, I'm a sometime English major and a theater/Shakespeare buff, which has wired my brain to think in iambic pentameter if I give it even the smallest excuse. When the subconscious verse-daemon noticed that most of the titles were already in iambic pentameter, it went looking for more patterns, and the rest just sort of fell out.

For anyone in the general gallery who's curious, the rule-set I found for construction of sestinas (sestinae?) is here, listed under "sestina".

This is amazingly cool.