Blackberry Sonnet/ The hay cutter speaks of his love

Lady, I came for your love – not to haggle.
I am no wisened mariner of orbs familiar knowledge,
But a castaway escaping the casket’s clamour –
Our years wait in your mantled hourglass beyond that door,
My journey is measured in the distance to the bed head.

Strand me not here for my bones shudder to cease and the sand runs down.
I would be Warm and Content and Yours.

Madam, I am no callow stent and lack the vigour to court these months;
the days are ours and I have not the tongue to maintain the nights as once
I climbed to masthead nests and sailed high.
Put away this doubting nunnery,
turn the key, loose the handle and say you are mine.