Friend, ebb, and flow, and flow, and flow
you cannot drag me in your tow
Like a gust of wind you blow
your kinship leads only to sorrow
Friend, our closeness hardly tossed
like others dear, upon us moss
Does grow, make slippery our rocks
hands grasping toward the truest loss
And now we pass upon the street
prisoners of time, the thief
who takes our love and then retreats
laughing at one more victory
(c) Mike Dedek 2001
