Evening, A Dark Hour For Henry Tudor, Styled Henry VII

Somewhere, the Masons may be building walls
of some cathedral and among them, one
who is---reputed---Richard's bastard son;
but, even illegitimate, more royal
than you can claim, and that makes your blood boil.
Fear gives even the stoutest courage pause
to think---to tremble---even to recoil;
and proud words, spoken, cannot be unsaid.
Shall you lose England and Elizabeth,
the heiress to the Yorkist wealth and cause
(and quite the beauty to enjoy in bed);
and punishment for treason---a worse death
(than Richard's, murdered) and, perhaps, your head,
raised high on some pike with, perhaps, your balls?


Author's Notes/Comments: 

The last six lines woke me in the wee hours of the morning of July 5, 2013.

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