Katherine Howard: Smeared Blood on an Angel’s Face

Ghost of Katherine Howard by Serena Barton

Anne Boleyn Files visitor, Hayley Adams, has written the following poem to commemorate the anniversary of Catherine Howard’s death by execution on the 13th February 1542:-

Katherine Howard: Smeared Blood on an Angel’s Face

She was just a little girl
Wore her heart on her sleeve
She didn’t know much of the world
But she was always eager to please

The people who cared for her
Neglected to do their job
They only noticed her hair fell in a pretty curl
Never knew what made her heart throb

The charm of a Howard
The beauty too
They decided to move forward
With her they knew what to do

They would bait her before the king
Lift his dreadful spirits with her smile
The king couldn’t resist a pretty thing
They had to wait only but a while

She resembled a former queen
They knew the king would appreciate this
For things were not what they would seem
Cleves and England were not united in wedded bliss

It was very soon that she caught his eye
His own mind filled with a royal plan
Though it was strange, she could not lie
It felt good to wanted by this man

Soon he placed the crown upon her head
And called her his rose without a thorn
Too bad she scorned her marriage bed
The rose had a secret devil’s horn

Oh, but she had fun!
Played dress up like a child
No one would tell her when she should be done
So she continued to run wild

But duties and obligations would take over
Wearing a crown was for more than looks
Suddenly she understood her role, her mind sober
It seemed that she was on tenterhooks

And thus she was condemned
She would head to the chopping block
Now she could no longer pretend
In her cousin’s shoes she would walk

This day she was to die
She would soon be gone
Her chin held high
It would not be long

She planned to meet her end
Like her cousin before her
With dignity her soul she would send
To a place no longer a distant blur

She laid her head upon the wood
After asking the crowd to pray for her
Pray for her they should
They know what is about to occur

A future she could not dream of
For the executioner had raised his axe
Her last thoughts were those of love
At the blow, the crowd turned their backs

Innocence is a shame to waste
Didn’t matter they put her in her place
Smeared blood on an angel’s face
And watched as she fell from grace.

By Hayley Adams

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