Beauty one day put this question to God: Why did you not make me eternal in the world?

The answer was that the world is like a picture gallery. The world is the story of the long night of annihilation.

As the nature of change is the basis of its display; only that is beautiful whose reality is decline.

The moon was somewhere near and it heard this conversation; it became well-known in the heaven, the morning star heard.

Having heard from the star the morning related it to the dew, it exposed the celestial world’s secret to earth’s confidante.

The flower’s eye started weeping from the dew’s message; the flower bud’s little heart was injured by this sorrow.

The spring weeping from the garden departed: Youth had come for amusement, sad it departed.