A joy divides its fragile dress,

With sorrow’s Sharing seam.

One thread of gold, the other black,

A wish, or faded dream?

We wear the gown in fields of light,

Till darkness takes its chance.

When Don succumbs to blackest night,

We’ll cower or we’ll dance.

Until the end, we’ll surely tread,

Through laughter and in tears.

A battlefield of Hope and dread,

For all the coming years.

With trembling bones, we face the fear,

Despite the endless fight.

In tattered gowns, we persevere,

And face the coming night.