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A Diary of Anne Boleyn

by James Walton (follow)
My ladies weep in the vernacular tongue
kneeling in the French style
I caught the wren as anotherís head fell
and later perched for witness
at the place near the abbey a heart beat quiet
then loud the cat still as sculpture
artful ferocity in those bloody sinew lines
drew from these palms a sanctuary
a censer swings slowly for a thousand days
the metal clanging its catechism
open hands meet the knowledge of ravens
given voice from a wooden block
release an olive complexion by Wyatt written
in pulse of reformist contraband
arms drop at side outstretched fingers release
not falconery or masterís quiver
took flight a stalked harmless precious thing
away from the predator and papal manoeuvring
a scavenge of royal alchemists pecks to parts
the once kindest knit of souls
the loins of a king are as common as any man
tempested wings erupt impatient there

Portrait of Anne Boleyn - National Gallery - courtesy of dialogus2
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