A Fond Farewell To Summer

Before Dawn

Before dawn a small doe

glides down our street

lightly as a fog from the sea.

She samples impatiens and calendulas,

nibbles nasturtiums, fuschias, peonies,

while the floppy-flewed hounds

dream of Alpo and Purina

on their plaid, cedar-lined beds.

She is seen only by the delivery man,

who is more concerned with flinging

newspapers into the bushes,

under lawn sprinklers, sometimes

even onto the driveways (under cars).

As the last stars fade,

she seeks the brushy woodlots

and things begin to return to abnormal,

engines snorting into combative life,

patrolling streets and highways,

far faster than running, with continual thunder,

while the doe rests by the brushy oak,

flicks ears at flies and gnats,

now and again tasting a leaf.

She quietly grows a fawn

also to be born into

this strange land.

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