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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.