No trick-or-treaters have come to the door, no paranoia’s goblins of loneliness and sickness. Relieved of these burdens, we try to sing a song of grass in new mud greening in a chill night censed by jack-o-lanterns. Hallowed, halidom, holy e’en; Happy, harvest, new years eve, we sing, of hope’s angels of happiness and health, about a life we have yet to live, one yet without refrain.

26 November 1979