The Gardener XXI: Why Did He Choose

Why did he choose to come to my
door, the wandering youth, when the
day dawned?
    As I come in and out I pass by him
every time, and my eyes are caught by
his face.
    I know not if I should speak to him
or keep silent. Why did he choose to
come to my door?
    The cloudy nights in July are dark;
the sky is soft blue in the autumn; the
spring days are restless with the south
wind.
    He weaves his songs with fresh
tunes every time.
    I turn from my work and my eyes
fill with the mist. Why did he choose
to come to my door?