The path on this seashore seemed familiar,
The walk from the Welsh village contained all the characters from Undermilk Wood,
Yet, none came from their houses,
Making this our own set, and not surreal at it seemed.
Her hand firmly clasped in a grip of 37 years,
No mans land in marriage, yet as perfect as the first days,
Only better now because we know each other,
And that we didn’t make the right choice.
But rather God did.