And I'm linking to Night Blooming Jasmine by Giovanni Pascoli, translation by Geoffrey Brock.
This is how the poem ends (I love it!):
It's dawn: the petals, slightly worn, close up again—each bud to brood, in its soft, secret urn, on some yet-nameless good.
Go ahead and think about ephemeral things.
When you read poetry, you're in the moment.