The Haycock
Is my share of sleeplessness
less than that of favour and reward by a girl's court?
It's not easy to skulk or hide
4 in such heavy black rain.
Even if the door was to open
at night, I wouldn't risk it
lest the girl should forbid me with a single word.
8 Is it any worse in the haycock?
It's my good fortune that you are a haycock,
stubby green curly-headed clown.
That was a good long-pronged rake
12 that stacked you yesterday on land.
I wore you, long garment,
a gentle green cape upon a servant of poetry.
I tried to get a bundle from you,
16 flimsy dovecot of straw.
I will praise you diligently with my tongue,
meadow's fleece, a good place to chew poetry.
You were made a splendid one,
20 the same kind, broad grey stack,
the same misfortune as fair lords
are you, and the same fate.
You were cut down with hard blue steel,
24 short fat burgess of the hay-field.
Tomorrow, which is a comfort to you,
you will be dragged, hay, from your green field.
The day after, above the flood of fine hay,
28 you will be hung, and woe me, Mary!
I will commend your body home
to the roof, and your soul to heaven.
On Judgement Day you'll see me
32 like an angel above the hayloft,
coming to knock on the door:
'Haycock, is it time?'