How're things at YOUR end? Here is chilly,
The wind is raising leaves on flight
The frigid stone. The unfamiliar
Front entrance's ungrecious sight
  
Here we've got autumn, gloom and weather.
How're things at YOUR end? Some time hence,
We all will go and ask together,
What was the purpose and the sense.

There we'll appear, a curious audience,
We'll ask, pointblank, as yes-or-no.
They'll greet us there with shine and radiance.
And they'll explain. And we will go.

					November 5, 1995.

Versions of line 2:  
	Boreas blows leaves here day and night
	The wind is blowing leaves in flight (or:aflight)