Like ocean tides,
Ebb and flow.

When high tide comes
We ride the crests

When low tide comes
And bares the soul
of the litter strewn beach,

We turn away
And hide our eyes,
Try not to see.

High tide
Will come again.

We'll ride the crests
And put aside our fear
That we would wander,

Alone forever
Amongst the rotting seaweed,
And forgotten homes of snails.