By Febby Sahla
there’s no forecast
there’s no virtual
there’s no pause...
all the natural course
all it’s real
perfect flow
like the leaves move in rhythm of the wind
such as the flute is blown by shepherd
rhythmically as the globe motion
and as dusk speckled shade
moist earth instantly
there's we are in between
June 22, 2011
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Febby Sahla. Enjoys writing poetry and prose, her works can be found on social media sites. Living in Semarang.
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