Autumnal harbingers

We’ve come to know 

The signs that summer’s ending — 

Late rising of the morning sun, 

The foghorns in the night, 

The tall brown stalks of foxglove 

Swaying in the breeze, 

The way the fig tree branches bounce 

When the deer rub against them, 

Wrestling the summer fur from their horns, 

And now the squabbles in the yard 

As they lock horns with one another 

 In groups of two or three, 

Then stalk the females, 

Their autumnal debutantes…