Richard of York - Simon Bookish

The royal meteorologist’s expression is pained

The weather looks bad and it’s starting to rain

Wasting his prayers on a fate already sealed

Kneeling in a tent, intent, in a Bosworth field

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain

This weatherman, whose charts predict severe precipitation

Couldn’t say, couldn’t say the future of a nation

Fearing Richard of York giving battle in vain

He pleads with the king in a language untamed:

«Oh please insane monarch don’t you know what you’re doing

Get down off your steed a storm is a-brewing

Written right here in history on pages unturned

Give the king half an hour he’ll be food for the worms»

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain

But the nonchalant king, with his transparent skin

Views the battlefield and yawns as a grey day dawns

In his veins a juice flows of a curious colour

Not blood but white rose hence the unearthly pallor

The sky rains down daggers cutting mud from the loam

Richard’s whole army washed away by the storm

Crying «Spur your proud horses», the Tudors upon him

But the sun, not the storm, tears him limb from pale limb

«Chisels a prism where once was an eye

Splits open his chest as he lays down to die

The hills and the standards are strangely afire

As he bleeds seven hues into England’s grey sky»

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Red

Orange

Yellow

Green

Blue

Indigo

Violet

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain

Richard of York gave battle in vain