The heavens go on calling
From azure's every recess.
The wind exudes honey
Of inference each moment.
By dawn's light beams I proceed on that line of beauty;
But I don't find it beneath the crimson glow of evening.
Minute to minute is an ever-new and diverse perception
In each and every mind of the macrocosm.
Upon arid summer, the Nature that I espy,
Under autumn's gray clouds, it does not abide.
On winter's inertia a tree's glamor goes missing;
It also gets regained by springtime's advent.
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Day becomes night, and night again becomes the day.
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