‘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’ –
I should have listened to her.
Graeme Sandford 