The ides of March are come… and also gone;
The nearness of it somehow slipped my mind.
Last week I left a note: “To Self: Beware,
The ides of March approach. Prepare a poem.”
Such timeliness comes only once a year;
But now its time is past, its sooth is said,
And nothing can be done to bring it back.
The best that I can do is let it go
And promise not to err again. But then,
I should have foreseen this coming… et tu?
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