I’m in love with the way
you dance across my door
beckoning, inviting me
once again to explore
You play with the wind
scattering your rays all around
filtering your lovely light
through the trees without a sound
Sometimes I notice your flecks
sprinkled across my wall
a kaleidoscope of prismatic colors
that I don’t mind at all
You’re a joy to behold
an extraordinary gift from the sun
shining your radiance upon me
and enthralling everyone
© 2026 Michelle Cook
Photo generated with AI
A pot of tea
steeping slow
allowed the conversation
to drift, then flow
A trembling hand
a splatter of cream
all witnessed beneath
a summer sunbeam
Starting with a look
a blooming glance
the wind stirred
in the sight of romance
Blushing boughs offered
a chance alone
doing all the things
some would never condone
With the wide old oak
shielding their play
prying eyes
slowly crept away
Rousing smiles rendered
a half giggle or two
as heartstrings seized
love anew
© 2025 Michelle Cook
Photo generated with AI
It was a warm-weathered day as delicate petals pelted and pranced across the pages of an open book. Occasionally, a brisk breeze would materialize, causing a sudden soirée of flowers to take flight, ultimately embellishing the barren pages, which seemed particularly peckish for a poetic phrase. It was as if the tree were purposely parading posies in an attempt to gain the attention of the writer below. But the wordsmith was lost in a world of rhythmic ruminations, never giving the tree a single thought, focusing solely on the stark landscape of her inconsolable book. Had the writer even an inkling about what the tree desired to divulge, she may have taken a moment to meditate, soaking in the silent secrets of her friend above. But as this wasn’t the case, the writer continued to stare blankly, utterly unaware of the many mysteries that were longing to be revealed.
© 2024 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tree-cherry-field-horizon-nature-6623764/
Life,
it moves us along
at record speed.
I try to dangle
delicately,
occasionally letting
my feet scrape
against the ground.
And as I swing under
my beloved canopy,
I notice the poor old oak
has seen better days.
Brittle bark scatters
like tarnished snowflakes,
and the bough dips
against the weight
of my sways.
But do I stop?
No, I continue on
in careless destruction,
marring my protector
all while biding my time.
I’m still a child; after all,
I do not recognize
my mistakes;
will I ever?
© 2022 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-swing-playground-trees-6722023/
There’s a lone tree I see,
reminds me
of what used to be.
I try not to fall under its spell,
as it takes me back to the place
where I once fell.
Looking at it now,
my heart just cries.
Why’d it take me so long
to realize.
Life is good now,
so I turn away,
choosing to leave
all those memories at bay.
© 2022 Michelle Cook
Photo credit: https://pixabay.com/photos/tree-lonely-alone-heaven-stars-4543580/
Her Writing Haven 