king Henry

King Henry

In England’s court, in shadowed halls,

Where beauty’s draped and torches sprawled,

A king once ruled, fierce and grand,

With a fearsome will and iron hand.

King Henry, bold, with eyes of steel,

Ruled his realm with ruthless a feel.

A tale of love, they tell instead,

Of his curious bond with severed heads.

Catherine, Anne, and wives galore,

Each met his heart, but wanted more.

Yet vows and oaths wore thin with dread

For love oft faltered where heads were shed.

In midnight’s murmur, a whispered game,

Each bride a pawn in Henry’s name.

They’d walk to chapel, heads held high,

And walk away to hear a sigh.

Oh, Henry loved, but love grew cold,

For queens, like roses, seemed to fold.

Some say he lingered by moon’s soft crest,

Among the tombs, his “beloved” to rest.

Thus Henry’s tale, a grim romance,

Of twisted fate and fatal dance.

To love this kings, may scar or bless—

And ends on the road to headlessness.