The bride was a widow, the bridegroom a widower and that’s where the story begins
She never thought she’d find another and certainly not him
He, for his part, was down on his way to out in a kind of middle aged funk
But there they were in Sausalito
It’s houseboats, who woulda thunk?
Corrine is a writer of mysteries, fond of wearing chic hats
She types away all day and looks at the Bay
With coffee and two Siamese cats
Downright laconic on the SS Ironic
Which needs some marine repairs
She called for help to get rid of the kelp
And voila, Big Bill appears
Brash and tough was he she thought
But with charms that did disarm
The fiction writer is
In need of a brighter reality, a depth charge
So they collided avec wine as the high tides washed upon their feet
Now undivided, the Lord has provided a place and a time, a destiny
For two who lost love but found it again
On the water
It’s no mystery