Catherine of ArragonMature

Wife of my brother,

 like a lamb to the slaughter,

 I watched her.

He died, she greaved.

I offered, she took.

The marrige in church.

I took her, she moaned.

No pain, no gain.

A child, a girl.

Then born still, born still,

I cast my eyes

and found relief.

And left the bag to rot.