Anne the Quene
I died today.
My husband, my lover, my King tired of me, wanting a new wife – one less challenging.
Seven long years he courted me, turning the world upside down for my sake;
But now I see it was really for his own. His desires, his pride. Always his.
Seven years courting, not quite three a Queen – where now Henry’s impassioned vows of love?
For decades the betrayal stung me to my core, tying me to the Tower:
Scene of both my triumphant Coronation and my dolorous end.
The daughter I gave him worthless in his eyes;
But the last word is mine, for his precious son – the son he murdered me to obtain –