The sound of the oars was dreadful, God's slave <br />She was, yet helpless before God and men, <br />And she knew, as they rowed her to the grave, <br />She would never hear sound of rowing again. <br /> <br />Though the lady was Queen she shook inside, <br />But how great was her fear no-one would know, <br />Because, into the mist, on this last ride, <br />As brave Mary of Scotland she must go. <br /> <br />So young to her death and much unprepared. <br />The Tower had been her home for past years. <br />Despite her pleas to the Queen with red hair, <br />She was condemned and there must be no tears. <br /> <br />I often remember, as taught at school, <br />Goodly Queen Bess cried in cousinly grief <br />When she signed the Warrant with stately rule <br />That usurping her throne would end in defeat. <br /> <br />She reminded Pretenders to this, her shore, <br />Before claiming reign, not to think like fools. <br />Some had aimed and missed, as this girl before <br />When mist took her to kneel at the axe's stool.<br /><br />Fay Slimm<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/through-the-mist-4/
