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...