The plant,
A flower.
Spring comes,
It grows and blooms,
Shining brightly,
In a sea of glooms.
Summer goes,
It withers and dies,
Becoming dull and dishevelled
As the delicate petal flies.
Falling and falling.
Lifted by a gental breeze,
Breaking the calm surface of
A pond, sending ripples with eaze.
Time and time again,
The flower will relive
Its brilliance.
Blooming ever so magnificently.
In a sea of glooms.
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