For just a while,the world glows pink,
and if we did not know
the petals would soon coat the ground
and fade into the grass,
would we rejoice as much,
or breathe so consciously
this scented air?
How much of what we love about our days
is colored by the transience
we know -- or do not know?
How differently would we live,
if we could be always conscious
that each moment that we breathe could be our last?
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