When You had come,
On eastern sky was the sun.
Upon a colored flower, sleepiness shrugged off,
The Honeybee has searched for exudation.
Then I, seated minus companion,
With passion garland have I strung,
Taking and tying to hair-bun
In hope of Your arrival adjacent.
By noon, not close did You show up;
Blossom was fallen, being shrunk.
At eventide with its play of color,
I remained seated, eyes dumbstruck.
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Maybe belated but always gracious, You come to me.
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