Flat Petulance (Villanelle)

Life plays his tricks and ever taunts me to adapt;
His latest lark is cruel and cuts me deep :
I cannot go to bed until the dog has crapp’d.

See how this wretched quadruped has me entrapped,
Pegged to his pitiless peristaltic creep; 
Life plays his tricks and ever taunts me to adapt.

That I of daily regimen so shrewdly mapp’d
To guarantee myself eight hours sleep
Now cannot go to bed until the dog has crapp’d

Seems joke so tasteless, raw, so bleak that I am apt
To lose count of my blessings. Angels, weep!
Life plays his tricks and ever taunts me to adapt.

Wherefore I nightly trudge the darkling way snow-capp’d
‘Til hound has cast his smelly little heap :
I cannot go to bed until the dog has crapp’d.

Oh Life, whose twists, surprises long held me enrapt,
Enjoy your humour’s melancholy reap;
Go play your tricks and ever taunt me to adapt :
I cannot go to bed until the dog has crapp’d.