It’s somewhat confusing how disarming her smile is and how quickly one can forget to articulate himself the moment she laughs. Her eyes innocent and wide behind those clear narrow-rimmed glasses. She had short hair, a dark and gracious frame for her silken face tinted with florid cheeks. Subtlety was her charm and great humility adorned her so that one would seem almost reticent to approach her at all. Or maybe that's just me. No, it's definitely on her. Its unfair how she can draw you in so simply and then make you so nervous the moment she starts to talk. Who am I kidding? I'd embarrass myself over and over talking to her just to see her smile and blush, to hear her say my name.
An ode to the great Lady Jane Grey, Queen of England for merely nine days. She was beheaded for her strong belief in the reformation of the Catholic Church at the age of 16. To this day she is championed as a heroine of the protestant reformation for her boldness in defending the Word of God against the corruptions of the established church.
Nine days for a Lady with eternity Worldly crown and splendor traded for blood Shed for convictions kept yet by posterity Grace and beauty blooming in that short-lived bud
Sixteen but well beyond her years in faith A queen of wisdom, petals cut before spring In the fount of her Lord’s blood did she bathe Full blossom in the next, to this world she wouldn’t cling
Gray shadows marked the end of her faithful fight But joy was closer as she awaited her living Head Reformation spread as men brought light To the scripture with which the sheep are fed And surely all to Lady Jane’s delight.
“The faith of the church must be tried by God's word, and not God's word by the church; neither yet my faith." ~ Lady Jane Grey
When does a word lose its meaning When a wall isn’t just for leaning But blocking out what we won’t hear, Songs remind that you’re not near
A home isn’t just walls, windows, and doors to open Not a roof or redolent frames would i hope in It’s you that makes it worth coming back Being “ours” lessens the load of the sad and meager lack
What use is the pen in capturing that yearning, ephemeral vapor If fear and shame restrain the hand from the paper Yet with ink spilled and page filled no reply awaits me To once again here thy voice is my last plea
But every knock ensures I don’t forget the door I’ve closed Regretting the plans and longings i never proposed You’re gone and lost with all you could ask for Whilst I can only sit and pine over those days of yore
