The Tide of Time

The Tide of Time, it ebbs and flows.

Where it comes from no-one knows.

Where it’s going is plain to see -

At least as plain as the wine-dark sea.

The Waves of Time, they lap and crash.

Smashing the walls of the cliff’s high mound,

Bearing the weight of the ocean down

Onto the water-logged ground.

The Wind of Time, it blows and howls,

Carving a piece from the cliff-edge jowls.

Hurling and swirling and diving and turning,

The spray comes our way for a day till it stops.

The Clouds of Time, they bear and break,

Over the water and over the spate.

Gloomily dour and sadly awake,

Blundering blindly at water’s mistakes.

The Tide of Time rises, falling away.

It ebbs and it flows for another short day.

The pull of the moon, although no-one can say,

Bids it go, tells it stay. It goes away.