Forgot your password?

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

Sign in

  • Winter evening chill
    wine as dark as shadows
    last glass lingering.
    Oh, ain’t a Sunday cruel

    Tip the bottle hoping
    only moonlight spills
    with the silver lees I write:
    Oh, ain’t a Sunday cruel

    Begging for a place to rest
    the wind at the doorstep pleads;
    "Only just ‘til morning."
    Yeah, a Sunday’s cruel

    Like a dance, we are together,
    no thought of time, though
    'tis but hours scant ‘til morning.
    Oh, Oh, ain’t a Sunday cruel
    • Share

    Connected stories:


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.