The fleeting glimpse of morning's fragile dew,
That hangs like jewels upon the spider's net,
Reflects the sun with colors fresh and new,
A transient beauty that we can't forget.
And so a fragile, momentary art,
Can capture what the seasons can't retain,
The quiet truth of every human heart,
The silent comfort in a falling rain.
But what is born of beauty's quick design,
Is but a promise that the eye perceives,
The lasting beauty that I know as thine,
Is not a flower that the wind relieves.
But like the strength of winter's steady tree,
Thy beauty lasts, for all the world to see.
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