Ol’ Henry can’t have been a loving father.
(He certainly wan’t a loving husband!)
Older sister could be a fright,
Younger brother too young,
Leaving an empty throne,
And only sisters and cousins
As possible heirs.
Jane’s first, Mary’s much later.
Even on the throne,
It can’t have been a pleasant life.
She had no option to become a wife.
Paris changed his choice:
No longer the fairest,
But the strongest
Received the golden apple,
And the gift of Empire.
(Though the colonies were
More under James’ watch, in sooth.)
The Spanish Armada rued her rule,
And English privateers harried the flotilla.
Spencer dedicated his Faerie to her,
And Shakespeare was in her favor.
(And Marlowe may have been her spy!)
But I wonder if she enjoyed her life.
Scrabbling to hold on to power,
Fearful of traitors, plotters and schemers.
What are the rewards of power,
When you have none to share them with?
(Then again, what are they anyway?)