The bud with the pearl of dew
Its early hours, the day is new
She is thrilled with the touch, she can't tarry any more...
She is tired of being shrivelled up, she has been waiting from long before...
The violet land and the music of the birds
The freshness inebriates the tottering herds.
Wrapped in the warmth of the morning Red,
No more the bud is moist, should she be afraid?
Why is it still dark here? Why is she all alone?
The music is playing...what sin has she to atone?
Is it the beginning or the end? The hotness burns her out...
But even then she can't ignore the sweet sap within and the wafting aroma without.
She is in despair, convinced -she is too insignificant :
But why does she, not forget the morning thrill, o just for a moment?
The flute of the sunset permeates the sky,
Its becoming unbearable...she knows not why.
She dreads the new day-break, shy of new hopes of the morning dew;
She had enough already, broken dreams, promise of a golden view :
But today it is not only on her body, also her bosom is touched with magic it seems
What is happening? She knew she was blind...then what are these glowing beams?
All the while, the shaft held her, in her doubts, in her hopelessness;
He silently supplied all the sap and hope and surrounded her in His grace.
One day, the shaft knew, the darkness will be gone :
The bud will bloom in all its beauty when it is time, and its purpose won.
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