A forty-year-old man writes a mock love letter to a wealthy five-year-old named Mary, pretending to be as smitten as the lords and knights who supposedly court her. His tone is playful from the start: since she can’t yet read, he feels free to shower her with affectionate, over-the-top declarations without real consequence. The joke is that while the adults around her see his verses and smile, Mary herself is blissfully unaware, using his poems to line her silkworm beds or curl around her doll’s hair. Even the strictest onlookers can’t object—she seems perfectly innocent, and he just a harmless, love-struck poet.
Beneath the wit, there’s a tender, slightly wistful current. The speaker imagines a future when she’ll be old enough to attract real suitors, yet by then he’ll be too old to feel such passion. The poem’s charm lies in this gentle collision of childhood innocence and adult longing, creating a mood that’s light, affectionate, and touched with the melancholy of passing time.