We walk the same shoreline. Weathered and bone-tired.

We’re looking upward to days unfolding

beyond what we’ve endured.

Glass that once was shattered, now softened and gleaming—

not just my husband— but sea-smoothed treasure,

shaped by the Maker’s hand.

We raise the next generation in rhythm,

our laughter rising like the sun.

And when the tide turns in glory, we’ll be there,

at shoulder. Polished, shining, held.