Member Poem

Mary, Queen of Bucks, with beauty sharp as fate,
A painted smile, a poisoned crown, she’d wait.
From velvet lies to whispered tongues of power,
Her hand would grasp, and kingdoms would devour.

A tempest in a lace-edged gown, so sweet,
She danced upon the backs of men’s defeat.
Her lover’s eyes—how they bent to her whim,
Yet in her mirror, shadows grew so grim.

She wore her crown like thorns upon her brow,
For what is love if power’s taste is now?
In silks she moved, but in her veins ran gold,
A woman’s wrath, too dangerous to hold.

The world fell to her words, the world she spun,
Her name a sigh, when all was said and done.
Did she fall, or did she simply rise above?
Mary, Queen of Bucks, was born to rule with love.