There was nothing left to say,
at the end of that fateful day.
The next morning,
the sky parted as usual
as the birds all sang in unison.
Each one responding
without a trifle
of a pink puffy, cloudy care.
The day lazily drifted by
as the trees did their perennial thing,
each one dancing and swaying
to the sound of the honeybees,
all very eager and harmonious,
in their afternoon endeavors.
Even the flowers
dressed in white,
parading around in their newest,
frilly attire,
couldn’t have been,
more carefree.
Each one so unassuming,
in their leisure,
yet studious displays.
Because like always,
it was just another ordinary day.
Another glorious day
to be alive.
At least that was the case
for everyone, but her.
© 2019 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tree-dawn-bird-winter-weather-3189333/
Her Writing Haven 