WHO DID SO TOUSLE YOUR DARK HAIR?

When at my orchard she arrived, the blossom was fresh falling.

The sun at the horizon slept, a drifter peevish lolling.

Oh why so late? I said to her. The last sun on the rushes,

my bells fog-muted, birds in grasses hiding in their stashes,

my leas all languish faintly scented waters overcast

and over ferry moorings shade all pastimes barren passed.

See I am set to cast off to some distant island greenery

and raise the flags upon the mast rig white sails filled in finery.

I waited for you back in spring…

The horizon boomed bright blues.

I stretched the sun’s rays into strings,

your voice to catch, a ruse.

So pray do tell, where were you even?

In far-flung lands and reaches where?

So pray do tell, in whose spring living?

Who did so tousle your dark hair?

Where did the hot nights sing to you through windows open wide?

My soul forlornly yearned in its cold silence petrified.

And now! I would not reminisce,

all set to leave all to dismiss,

off to sail ready and now this,

why in my grove to wane you’d please?

You’ve no sun here ablaze around no mountains with wild whoops resound.

For us no meadows fragrant wait, no songs about our coastline sound,

To cast off lone I am all set

to autumn’s fabled voice hark, care

to find a New Realm and domain.

Who did so tousle you dark hair?