The illusionist packs two tricks,
Carefully placing the ‘i’ before ‘e’, except after ‘c’,
Countless rhymes estranged from its poem,
Encoding a simple meaning into warped confusion.
Crafting a wide angle shot of a marble temple,
Where the fates of the six wives of Henry VIII,
Turned into ornate statues,
Stand on guard outside the grand palace.
The insolence of the high power blades of time,
that make and break human spirit at a cellular level,
Pay a callous homage to these brilliant shadows,
Nicknamed by history; divorced, beheaded, died, divorced,