Henry VII: The Early Years
Margaret Beaufort could not fathom doubt.
Listening to the milch cow strain against her stanchion in the shelter,
to the stable lads scoop grain into the manger,
the clamor of the poultry destined for the platter,
Smiling inside at the common, simple country chorus.
Thankful to embrace — and even trust — her exile from the city and the court.
For she would join in what was possible (once),
Living to frame the destiny of Henry, royal son,
Lacking the luster of the crown for now,
Failing to receive support.
She knew the West would clasp her cause —
to weave alliance with the Lancasters against the Yorks,
to serve a greater cause, a harmony.
Singing Henry’s praises toward the throne,
processing underneath the shade of cloth of gold.
This was the violent and tender purpose of her life,
and so it was.
For Margaret Beaufort could not fathom doubt.
Margaret Allyson writes poems and songs in Fort Worth. After a career editing magazines and books, she now works with recycled silk. She’s a decent human being all the way around.