Dong Tian Chun · The Butterfly Envoy

All at once it turns warm, orioles at play; the green grass chases the butterflies, the mood let loose. Adorning the hours, embroidering a bright dream; a hidden fragrance tugs at the lapel and stirs it.

A thin gown falls into the green shadows; a pale finger lightly lifts the heavy dew. Wanting to come near and still holding back—so many springs of waking—and the human world is of no use.