I remember the dark days of pleasance,
A simple smell of the dim-lit halls,
How hope would make her welcome presence,
Known along the glossy walls.

A simple shoe, now bleakly torn,
A simple dress, now overworn,
A hooded vest, a high hem-line,
How strange it is that they'd combine,
To make such happiness.

She plays a game with me these days,
She shows me how in her past ways,
She'd gift me wonders complacently,
But she tells me not how it will be,
I ask her "how?" she says, "you'll see."

But oh, her grim decorum now,
Not so in the dark days of pleasance,
Back when hope did not play her game of vows,
When shall she grant me her presence?