A War Of Roses

Two roses bloomed, one red, the other white,

Their fragrant petals stained with crimson hue,

As York and Lancaster engaged in fight,

For England's crown, a prize both sought and knew.

Brother fought brother, father turned on son,

The realm was torn by bitter, bloody strife,

And many battles fiercely fought and won,

Where noble blood was spilled and wasted life.

From Towton's field to Bosworth's fateful plain,

The roses clashed, their thorns entwined in death,

And kings were made and unmade, time and again,

Until at last, a Tudor claimed the breath.

So ends the feud, the roses now unite,

A new dawn breaks, dispelling darkest night.