Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To

Come, Butterfly It's Late- We've Miles To Go Together.

A Thicket Of Summer Grass / Is All That Remains / Of The Dreams Of Ancient Warriors.

Mountain-rose Petals Falling, Falling, Falling Now... Waterfall Music

April's Air Stirs In Willow-leaves...a Butterfly Floats And Balances

Year's End, All Corners Of This Floating World, Swept.