there comes a time,
and it always comes,
when the tide begins to ebb,
the waters of the bay, they cease their inward flow,
they gather themselves to pause a fateful pause,
to cling with desperation to life's advance,
to hold on, to hold on,
to beg one moment more.
the waiting waters still to darkening glass,
what was about to be
and what will always be.
in that turning of the tide,
in that delayed surrender,
the seagulls cease their chatter,
the winds, they quiet into respectful consideration,
and the currents, the hidden currents,
they change their minds,
and they return
from whence they came,
in spite of all their weeping, sad reluctance,
drawn forever home.