THE QUIET NAME OF BOSWORTH HALL

 At Bosworth Hall where shadows lean on stone,

And cedar trees remember more than they have shown,
There walks a name half-spoken, lost between the years—
A whisper in the records, a trace in ink and tears.

They wrote her once—Anna—then the line went cold,
No story neatly finished, no life completely told.
Just a date in winter, when the ground was hard and still,
And a bell that marked her passing by the church upon the hill.

At St Peter’s Church, Market Bosworth she was laid to rest, they say,
Nineteen years accounted, then quietly put away.
No grand inscription followed, no lineage carved in stone,
Just a place among the silent, where the nameless are not alone.

Yet near at Cadeby, Leicestershire, England, a child was once received,
With water, name, and promise—quietly believed.
A daughter of a household that history half recalls,
Where pride was worn like armour in the echoing halls.

Sir Wolstan Dixie 4th Baronet ruled those lands with fire,
A man of temper, story, and unbending desire.
But whether he had daughters the records cannot say—
Some truths are kept in silence, and never given away.

So she remains between them—
Not legend, not quite known,
A life that brushed the daylight
Then vanished into stone.

And Bosworth keeps her memory
Not loudly, but somehow—
In footsteps through the corridors,
And the wind that stirs them now.