The Curlew calls

I heard but one cuckoo
and summer was here
when I hear him no more
summer will fade again
autumn slipping silent by,
the blackbird heralding
the shortening day as
crows assembling in pines
sing a raucous roundelay
to  rutting stags and
waiting doe as the fox
seeks rabbits in
the honeysuckle hedge
bright with berries and
black with bramble beneath
the crab and thorny sloe.
Yellow tinges in the leaves
as ash and aspen moult.
The oak stands green
until November gales discard
orange leaves and red,
acorns fall as squirrels
stock their larders
As the curlew calls.