It’s Delicate

What there has risen
like despair is naught;
fair as a life; nascent,
and ne'er distraught!

What there has risen
like time is naught
on moments
has a sway,

like in moments stilled
it lives
an eternal day.

It is but a flower
albeit for a day;
in the wakes of twilight,
like a scarlet ray,

into the grand eve
it will fade away.

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