The Ancient Rhythm Of Ebb And Flow

Eb pulls back, he holds his peace
he's done with Flo, he's wined the beast
and as it's said, 'don't tread where sands are shifting';

the ebb and flow, they come and go
ebb draws us out, the tides are low,
but as we yearn, return, and stop our drifting.

i stand on rock, alone at last
and mourn for what is done and past
but still, with broken heart, recall the surges;

the times when you were out at sea
and when you finally wrote to me
I laugh at how you satisfied my urges.

The words we shout from distant shores
the ones which fall on heavy oars
which make the trip back home far less than pleasing;

far better are the words on wing
which land with olive branch and sing
a song of love which keeps the flow from freezing.

but even in the closest knit
where scarcely will the piece not fit
there's comes a rhythm known as ebb and flow.

and marriage is a special bond
and Eb and Flo they looked beyond
and understood the way it had to go.

and through the laughter and the tears
and late night dances,sharing beers
they always knew the highs would lead to low.

and now Flo waits on lonesome shore
for time apart was forced before
his time would have it, 'twas Eb's time to go.