Tudor Suitor

Royal Cradle | Photo

Old King Henry had six wives
Whose days were full of dread
For most of them led tragic lives
Then often wound up dead.
Catherine of Aragon
To whom he first proposed
Could not produce a princely son
So he said Adios!
Then Anne Boleyn, closer to home
Demanded that they wed
So Henry cut off ties with Rome
And then cut off her head.
Poor Jane Seymour was the one
Who finally played her part
When she, at last, produced a son
But died, which broke his heart.
Anne of Cleves, the next one booked
Was regal, young and wealthy
The problem was she didn’t look
Quite like her royal selfie.
Catherine Howard, it was said
No man had ever dated
But rumours spread after they’d wed
So was decapitated.
Catherine Parr, a lively sort
Who wielded her own power
Helped organise his kids and court
Once she’d escaped The Tower.

All Henry wanted was a son
A prince whom he could teach
To rule his people when he’d gone
But this was out of reach.
The irony which overwhelms
This patriarchal scene?
He gave to England and its realms
Perhaps their greatest queen
Because Young Bess, put to the test
Excelled in her employ
And showed the world it takes a girl
To do it like a boy.

Over, Lord

I bade my love compose an ode

To prove her heart was true

Reciting To Him All Is Owed

She blushed the whole way through

I bade my love prepare a feast

Befitting of her lord

She cooked for me the finest beast

Her dowry would afford

I bade my love take out a boat

And clear the moat of trolls

She caught each one and cut its throat

Then stuck their heads on poles

I bade my love tend to my aches

With liniments and oils

She rid my skin of every flake

And lanced a string of boils

Then comes a time when passions end

When leaves droop with the frost

I bade my love invite her friend

That’s when she said get lost.