Wasted Petals on the War of the Roses
written by: Lei Writses
White as the stratum clouds are its petals—
Which rose mirrors the castle house of York—
It was sunny when Richard the Third spoke,
At the garden of the Inns of Temple,
That the English kings declared a battle,
He came across the King’s, after a walk;
But O Greed! Greed! Greed, it cannot be cured!
Somerset, Henry the Sixth’s advisor,
Plucked a rose, as red as the royal blood,
From the bush of London, saying once more:
“Let all of my party wear this flower,”
Which to ‘present the house of Lancaster.
But O Greed! Greed! Greed, it cannot be cured!
Fourteen-fifty-five had all this started,
War of the Roses which we are to call,
Both of Royal, born of the same descent:
King Henry Plantagenet the Second,
Who sired two sons to become the worst kings:
Richard the Lion-heart and John of Gaunt;
One shall born a son for the House of York,
The other for the House of Lancaster.
But O Greed! Greed! Greed, it cannot be cured!
O, two roses of different colors,
What a shame it is to waste thy petals,
You, who both rooted from the same garden,
Both a fool to kill each other with thorns;
But O Greed! Greed! Greed, it cannot be cured;
Whose father, ’tis red, who usurped the crown,
And the right one to chase it for Honor,
But O Greed! Greed! Greed, it cannot be cured;
The latter house won’t yield the throne easy,
So on and on the war of roses went.
‘Til the great founder of Tudor was born:
Henry the Seventh defeated them all,
And the royal illness, Greed, was lessen,
From Richard the Third to his impostors:
Lord Lovell, Lambert Simnel, and Warbeck;
And the royal illness, Greed, was lessen!
All thanks be to the pureblood King Henry,
Descended from both York and Lancaster
And who gives a twenty-four years of peace;
For him—no more petals were wasted on,
As he ended the War of the Roses.
And the royal illness, Greed, was lessen!
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