I was brought up in a Palace
In a sunny part of Spain.
But now I live in London
Underneath the pouring rain.

I was sent to marry Arthur,
Ensuring State to State reflection.
Pity Arthur’s sexual skills
Involved minimal erection.

Then he went and died on me,
And I was offered to his brother.
Turned out Henry had a lot
More focus as a lover.

Our first few years of marriage
Was spent keeping out the cold,
By performing marital duties
Like rabbits down a hole.

Then Henry met Boleyn girls,
And was no longer fair and true.
The first one didn’t last that long,
But the second sticks like glue.

He thinks he wants to marry her;
That she’ll have sons through his affections.
He doesn’t seem to realise
His sperm runs in wrong directions!

Because although I had more children
Than your average giant turtle,
Only one survived the test,
And she turned out infertile.

I’ll not agree a nullity,
But if they reach the pinnacle,
The only chance of healthy sons
Will be a God-made miracle.

So good luck Anne and Henry.
If you do end up together,
I’ve got a funny feeling
The match wont last forever!

 

About The Author

Eddie Boverington

Edward “Eddie” Boverington is a freelance moustachioculturalist and professional cobbler, a student of history, and in his spare time composes medieval inspired poems and lute ballads in the 16th century style. He grew up in Clapham in the 1950s, where he still lives above his family’s shoe repair shop. Some of his moustache designs have won awards in prestigious international competitions, such as Le Concourse de Bacchantes et Moustaches de Francais. He can also polish, recondition and resole even the finest boots overnite for only £25.

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