Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Sitting here writing a poem
    but the words just hide away
    I’m sitting here by the window
    waiting on an idea to come
    sometimes I feel them skim by close
    but every time I reach for one
    They all just run away

    Tried a brand new notebook,
    filled my favorite fountain pen.
    Notebook’s got a fancy cover
    and my pen is gold and black
    but when I go to write
    that ink is just as dry dust,
    any breath of wind
    going blow my words away

    Magpies in the oak trees
    Doves are in the pines.
    Magpies in the oak trees
    And the doves are in the pines
    Maybe they seen my words drift by
    But they don’t pay them any mind


    Sometimes I think I hear them coming
    Sometimes I know they must be near
    That’s why I’m sitting by the window
    Just as still as I can be
    Watching the wind go sailing by
    Trying to read the headline clouds
    But seems the sun is all
    That’s coming out of the blue today
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.