Poems by Shruti Vasan: Anne Boleyn

Sweet scent of earth,

brisk spring air,

to the tunes of celtic renaissance,

reminiscence of a past medieval,

close enough to smell.

The maze where lovers chased,

comes full and bright,

his wandering eyes,

lost charm she carried,

an end he put to her poor neck,

a lass she left to reign.

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My name is Moniek and I am from the Netherlands. I began this website in 2013 because I wanted to share these women's amazing stories.

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