Killing a Lady Queen Only Fifteen
This is a poem I wrote tonight about seeing the painting The Execution of Lady Jane Grey by French painter Paul Delaroche, at the National Gallery in London. No painting has ever stopped me in my tracks like this one. There is something unexplicable about the magnetism of this piece of art. If you get a chance, you should absolutely read the whole story of this doomed girl.
Killing a Lady Queen Only Fifteen
Her eyes cannot pull through paintings
perfumed with aged dust and spirit of
Reformation. They are covered. Bound.
Tightly wound and blinded but full of light;
she is easy to find this Lady Jane Grey.
Given away as a handkerchief to her Fate. Marriage.
Her mate Guildford Dudley, a Duke by proxy.
Heirarchy loosely woven in documents
of kings decr...
