The end of us

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,
So too our minutes hasten to their end,
From where'st thy natures heraldic roots abhor,
So too would my children's nature lend.

Oh no, though you love be great it's essence is less,
Than mine, in roving fashions might it share,
Because a heart can't hold all it's love attest,
It is mine that proclaims itself true and fair.

With one love has time defined a buried age,
Mine a thought as fine a death which none can choose,
A hand brandished about to signify my rage,
But our skin akin, soft with time we lose.