Lady Anne Grey

Burned out candles and burned out lies,
This is the reality of her demise.
Watching and waiting to get her revenge,
The time is now, and it is the end.

I cannot fathom why it was she,
but there were no others it could've been,
A shadow grew withered along with regret,
At the sight and sound of her final breath.

Her husband was leading a scandalous plight,
Leaving his lady anguished and contrite.
The loss of innocent life was mainly to blame,
Like skin on a thorn, like a moth to a flame.

Here lie the bones of Lady Anne Grey,
A woman whose life was riddled by fate.
We are all just wonders until we die,
And from here on out this is where will shall lie.
♠ ♠ ♠
Just a poem i wrote in my drama lesson about a fictional character named Lady Anne Grey. She was a beautiful woman from the nineteenth century who fell in love with a man named Charles Fitzgerald, who was 20 years her senior. they married when she was 17. After a while Lady Jane discovered that her beau was part of a huge scandal exploiting girls to a network of Upper-class men.
Torn apart my the fear of being found out and herself being ruined for other men, she took a noose to her neck ages 18.