~ "...He raised me to be a Queen. Now he will raise me to be martyr."

-Anne Bolyen

The lion knows his own strength,

So the lambs shall be lead to slaughter,

He raised you to be queen,

Then to be a martyr,

From velvet royal robes and golden scepters,

To angels wings and silver halos,

With a swift strike,

A trick of the light,

One thunder bolt that came crashing down.

Your dark hooks to the soul lost their hold,

Rosebud lips wilted to a deathly pallor,

A rose so fine pruned in her prime,

Better she that is in heaven than in this cruel world,

At the caw of the raven,

The sound of the heart wrenching thump,

The dissident trickle of ruby droplets.

Your beauty stolen,

Your life taken,

Of fair fancy now foul memory,

Gone for eternity; stolen from us,

Entered through traitor's gate left through pearly clouds,

God couldn't save you,

Your fate etched in stone,

A tragedy though true.

Perseverance you're missed,

Mourn for her,

Taken from the edge of her golden world,

The Snow White Queen.