Henry the Eighth
Maidens, bloody maidens, I had me six of ‘em wenches, ye knowest
Fullsome Catherine of Aragon wrought havoc ‘tween me and the Pope
Besought a divorce, split from the church whilst Anne Boleyn caught mine eye
'Twas beheaded whenst in ‘er capacity to produce a male heir I lost hope
Mine affection waxed for Jane Seymour; I beseeched ‘er t’ marry me
Anne’s body not yet cold in the ground whenst Jane became mine queen
But after giving me a son, Jane withered, twas gone in two weeks
For ‘er I mourned two years, afore proposing to Anne of Cleves
Ye knowest this “Flanders Mare” twas not suited for mine royal court
Nay, ‘er domestic skills tweren’t becoming of a stately king’s wife
At mine auld age of 49, I grew enamored of young Kathryn Howard
She but 19 when I divorced Anne and beseeched ‘er t’ share mine life
But Kathryn had eyes for other blokes, made me look like a pompous joke
"Thou dost not deserve thine title," I declared, had ‘er executed
Twice widowed at the age of 31, Katherine Parr I settled for
This wench cared for me as I grew ill, thus is undisputed
Prithee t’ see after six attempts, I finally met mine match
Katherine inherited mine throne once mine body twas laid t’ rest
From heaven I look back fondly at mine spirited days of yore
Knowing that in a regal sense mine first wife twas truly mine best
* For Lisa Cooper’s “I Want Some Old English Scandal” contest
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
