Richard III – a poem

Poor, poor Richard. He didn’t have much luck,

Born in a time when the ground violently shook,

With horses hooves and tiring human feet,

Raging war in the name of that glorious seat.

The Tudors blamed him for the biggest part,

When he wasn’t even involved right at the start.

His reputation smeared by the words Shakespeare used,

Mixing rumour and lies his legend was fused,

As a murdering, cowardly, hunchbacked fool,

Who was sly, wicked and always cruel.

But perhaps history tells of a different man,

One who married his sweetheart Anne,

And campaigned for Northerners across the land,

Even allowing the poor to take a stand,

Against the injustice that occurred at the time,

Of which poor Richard was a victim of the crime.

Accused of slaying the Princes in the Tower,

Something he denied beyond his final hour.

I think it is time for history to be rewritten,

And a new Richard to emerge in this Great Britain,

A King who was good, wise and magnificent,

Who was, until proven guilty, completely innocent.

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