Beware the Ideas of March

‘Beware the ideas of March!’

an old woman once said to me.

‘Seize her!’ I had cried,

tears falling from my eyes.

And, yet, I still had ideas,

above and beyond my station,

which caused my desecration

by a dozen or so knives –

after the first few I wasn’t counting –

amounting to my demise.

‘Et tu, Brute?’

I managed, before I croaked;

‘No, I ate them all!’ Brutus, he joked.

Luckily, his reply was lost to me.

I had not seen my ending coming,

sore that it was,

and, so I did concur

that my life was completed

with such ‘infamy’ –

that I should have listened to her.

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