The burden he bore Gave no time for refute He’d been given a job One could not dispute And poor Lady Jane In her ashen condition Seemed far beyond Any hope of volition Not a single wish Could change her fate The course was set Her breath too late And the Lady in wait Sorrowfully […]
The burden he bore
Gave no time for refute
He’d been given a job
One could not dispute
And poor Lady Jane
In her ashen condition
Seemed far beyond
Any hope of volition
Not a single wish
Could change her fate
The course was set
Her breath too late
And the Lady in wait
Pearls in hand
No peace of mind
The room stood still
As time captured the end
Poor Lady Jane
Not a soul would defend
© 2018 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://www.wikiart.org/en/paul-delaroche/the-execution-of-lady-jane-grey-1833
Anne Boleyn is said to be one of the most memorable of ghosts to haunt the Tower of London in the area of the White Tower and the chapel of St.Peter and Vincula, where her headless body was interred in an arrow case under the floor.
On the 1st June 1536 Anne Boleyn was crowned Queen of England, and on the 7th September she gave birth to a daughter; Princess Elizabeth, much to the disgust of Henry who wanted a male heir.
On the 2nd May the Queen was arrested and charged with committing adultery with Sir Francis Weston and Wiiliam Breton, and plotting against the life of the King.
On the 19th May Anne Boleyn was led out to Tower Hill and beheaded, and her remains were buried in the Chapel of St.Peter ad Vincula adjoining Tower Green.
It is said that in 1864 a sentry challenged a headless figure thought to be that of Anne Boleyn, and his bayonet passed right through her.
In another account the Captain of the Guard witnessed a light from the locked Chapel Royal in the White Tower. He peered down into the chapel and witnessed a procession of people all dressed in old clothing with one Anne Boleyn leading the procession.
The Forge Of Vikings
There was a time,
long before we breathed in this place,
when the sea had cleft our mountains,
and before long, we rested there,
our souls forged of its very nature.
Then the sea and the oak formed a pact,
and the long boat came to be,
together we made our way across the seas.
At home we were blacksmiths, farmers, woodsmen,
but on foreign shores we were beserkers,
fearless, bringers of terror and death
as we plundered our way into history,
all the while the fjords a fire in our souls.
©Paul Vincent Cannon