Ain’t a Sunday cruel

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