A Bud Flowers And Dies

I saw a small bud in the morning,

it was fresh and feeble,

it was so beautiful.

 

I walked out in the late morning,

It was still the same,

It was dainty and frail.

 

I peeped out in the afternoon,

It looked more or less the same,

Though slightly bigger than in the morn.

 

I made it again in the late afternoon,

It was there remarkable as ever,

It danced charming in the breeze.

 

I advanced towards it in the evening,

It had opened up elaborately,

Spreading its fragrance all over.

 

I rushed towards it the next morning,

Its petals looked withered,

It was drooping  in a fold.

 

I retreated with a heavy heart,

Capitulating the growth in a day,

Finally reconciling to death also in a day.