to Anne

Alas, my love, you do me wrong

words of a king
demons of a man
seeking refuge into the heart of a woman

To cast me off discourteously

Anne
you, truthful subject
yet only true to your desires

For I have loved you well and long

your grace enslaved a Tudor
changed a religion
delivered a bastard queen in waiting

Delighting in your company

and the clouds
rolled with the bloody wind
a crowned head
into God’s lap

…And who but my lady greensleeves