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Poetry: History

 

Mary, Queen of Scots (1542 -1587 CE)

I have been Queen,
and lived by my appetites.
My will is royal, and
royally has it served
to love, to marry, to defy,
to find the God best suited
to a Queen's need
for grace to understand,
and compassion to forgive,
this marriage of will
and appetite.

She, too, is
Queen, cousin to Queen:
she has lived by intellect.
Majesty is her nature,
cold enough to deny
our common heritage,
and belie the wigmakers' fire.
Of love, she has none,
nor husband, nor heir,
her God, attenuated, distant,
implacable.

I shall wear red petticoats,
red petticoats to light
the dark way to forgiveness,
red petticoats to remind her
that she knows none but
wignakers' fire.
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