Thursday, September 6, 2012

Master of Persuasion





A half-breath ago youth sparkled
And fell ‘neath the spell of your charm
I was a carefree dreamer
Laughing as you tugged my arm
Now from the deepening meadow
I hear a plaintive call
As I peer into gathering shadows
To the hearth of an early fall
To the hearth of an early fall

Somewhere in your foot-fall of moments
You drew the bud from the limb
Unfolding it into a flower
As leaf-notes became a hymn
And the dreamer became a mother
With children to answer her call
While you were her endless summer
No thought of an early fall
No thought of an early fall

Gently your touch reassures me
That faithfully, you’ll hold my hand
To the end of a road growing narrow
Through a dark and foreign land
Time; grand master of persuasion
With subtle enticement you call
Urging me on from the summer
To the hearth of an early fall
To the hearth of an early fall

© Janet Martin

Tonight on my run I noticed the brush of fall
against the woodland that seemed to have been in bud only yesterday...




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