Autumn’s Fool, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

Autumn’s Fool

The tired falling leaves, of the tilted birch
Flutter like the wings, of a butterfly
Each frantically, for a place they search
A soft place, to lie for they know they die

It is solemn reminder, that I too
Need to be prepared, for my final day
As to its coming, I have not a clue
And for that restive day, I have no say

But as the birch, for the spring I will wait
Will fight with my every breath, winter’s chill
No more will I fear, the locked pearly gate
Smiling, I’ll hunt, for the first daffodil

For as I make an attempt at reason
Why this is to be my final season

To be a Butterfly, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

To be a ButterflyLa Scapigliata, Leonardo da Vinci (c.1508)

To be a Butterfly

She’s imprisoned by another’s decree
Not ever given the right to be free
To love one with passion as she would choose
At will, that special one, her heart to loose

Her every motion, now to be controlled
Even with her beauty, fully extolled
Her virtues placed upon the mantelpiece
No ladder to provide for her release

To say to another, she does belong
A horrid claim, is totally wrong
Is to imply another’s property
As is to stone her for adultery

It is best to secure her with your heart
If not, without revenge let her depart