Ah, the dangers of Facebook. Just when I was about to toddle off to bed, I was encouraged by The History Police page to unleash my Bad Ricardian Inner Poet. It led to this:
The Ballad of the White Rose
Anne, my sweet, frail flower
Sacrificed for the sake of power
Forced to marry a cruel and vengeful youth,
You kept within your heart the shining truth.
To lie with him you did abhor,
For you were bound to the white boar.
Death freed you from Lancaster’s wretched grasp,
Only to place you in Clarence’s cruel clasp.
In a cook shop you languished,
While all thought you had vanished.
Yet as Romeo would not be parted from his love,
Richard could not forget his gentle dove.
All he sought was your fair hand,
He cared nothing for your land.
Through London’s streets he paced by night,
While you continued in your helpless plight.
Good Lady Fortune led him to your side,
And you at last became his bride.
To lie with Richard, oh, such bliss!
Nothing like Lancaster’s cold kiss.
But now the door we must close,
On the wedding night of our fair rose.
There could be more here if you encouraged me . . .
12 thoughts on “Poetry Corner!”
More more more!
I am definitely ENCOURAGING!!!
This is great! Not only are you a great novelist, but now you add Ricardian poetry to your list of talents!
Awesome job, Susan! Your poem is like a Rohrschach Test for people in the know about RIII- I think it's a wonderful parody, but I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if a copy of ends up placed with a bouquet of white roses at Anne's tomb in Westminster Abbey!
Bring it on!
Brilliantly bad. I'd love to read more. 🙂
Yes, I like it 🙂
You should perform those on renfairs. You know, like those ballad singers who had a number of – usually crude – drawings on wooden tablets they would point at while the sang about the cruel fate of Marie or Sabine. Or Anne. 🙂
Thanks, all! I will endeavor to produce more, as soon as I find something to rhyme with "Woodville."
Really enjoyed it! More please!
Susan, I am so looking forward to that!
With history am I thrilled to bits?
Not when historians prove such s***s
Ever at straw of illogic grasping.
Any wonder I'm left gasping.
Day in day out I tear my hair
Shaking what's left in sheer despair.
Never mind I've still some hope.
Heard of the adage 'fools and rope'?
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