
When the seventh Henry staked his claim on Richard's grave,
He united the roses by marrying Elizabeth of York
Peace was thriving under the Tudor rose and riches he gave,
Until his second son flew in on a cursed stork.
Spoiled King Henry the Eighth had lust, gout, and fight,
and six queens shared his royal bed.
Their stars rose high in the court's candle light,
But dimmed as his fickle favor fled.
First Catherine, a Spanish princess so fair,
Widowed to Arthur, the first Tudor heir.
she wore the crown for twenty jubilees,
Bore only Mary, the future queen she would never see.
They divorced when she could not produce a male for the Tudor line.
Her steadfast faith would not reduce, and in isolation she'd decline.
Then came Anne with wit and French-taught grace,
Who refused to be the royal's prize.
Her long pursuit set a faster pace,
Till Henry broke with Rome's old ties.
She produced Elizabeth, her only gift to the crown,
A virgin queen who would end the royal bloodline.
But rumors of plots and incest brought quick renown,
Sent to the Tower for the sword's swift bite.
Sweet Jane Seymour, meek and mild,
The only wife to give a son.
She bore the king his cherished child,
But childbirth fever soon had won.
Edward, the heir, at last was born,
The king had what he wanted most.
While Henry's heart was left to mourn
He moved on quickly from Jane's ghost.
Anne of Cleves, the German bride,
Whose portrait pleased but presence failed.
The king's disgust he could not hide,
Their union quickly was curtailed.
"The Flanders Mare," cruel words were said,
Yet wisest of the six was she.
She kept her wealth and kept her head,
Survived in a comfortable decree.
Young Catherine Howard, just a girl,
When married to the aging king.
Her youth and beauty, like a pearl,
Concealed the doom that past would bring.
Her former lovers spoke too much,
Her current ones betrayed her more.
The sword that her cousin Anne before did touch,
Was no match for the axe Catherine's head had in store.
Last we have Catherine Parr, mature and wise,
A scholar with a caring heart.
She helped heal Henry's family ties,
And nurturing was her greatest art.
She published works in her own name,
Survived the king who schemed her end.
But childbirth, as cruel as Henry's game,
Would be this educated woman's end.
Divorced, beheaded, died,
Divorced, beheaded, survived.
Six women bound by one man's will,
Their stories echo through the years.
The Tudor court, their fates fulfilled,
Through power, passion, blood, and tears.
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