Uca Tri Agusla Budiastuti
Her Dejected Plot
It was this rocking wooden chair,
her belated best friend;
Dancing along with a groggy stick.
Mirrors were to be found nowhere,
as she used to bend
At the sight of her encounter with an odd brick.
Windows were the lines that bear;
standing in the way to vent
A solace and nostalgic pricks.
She had been watching the green leaves faithfully.
Dwelling on the past to pain,
She was the reflection of the ones turning yellow.
She smiled, then cried painfully.
Blaming the sun for the almost dry main,
She still had to be the one who ...