In a garden grown silent, where colors have faded and petals lie delicate upon the ground, there stands a lone blossom. Its beauty once vibrant, now a mere shadow of its former self. Yet, even in this state of decay, a curious sight unfolds. Tears, clear as crystal, glisten on the withered surface, a testament to the fleeting nature of life itself.

In a garden grown quiet, where colors have faded and petals lie delicate upon the ground, there stands a lone blossom. Its beauty once vibrant, now a mere shadow of its former self. Yet, even in this state of decay, a curious sight unfolds. Tears, like as crystal, glisten on the withered surface, a testament to the fragile nature of life itself. Ea

On a balmy/chilly/windswept afternoon, as the sun sank/dipped/set below the horizon, casting long shadows across the garden, I discovered/noticed/found a solitary flower, its petals brittle/dry/withered. A single tear/drop/pearl of dew clung to its stem, reflecting the last rays of light/sun/glow, a poignant reminder/symbol/sign of beauty that pers