“Beware the Ides of March,” they say
And yes, that was a fateful day
For as Spurina did foretell
On cue, the mighty Caesar fell.
When nowadays the phrase is said
It is without that tone of dread,
Yet still we keep the phrase around
Perhaps because we like the sound.
It has a certain melody
And words, like air itself, are free.
Alas, we never celebrate
Today, this time of year, this date.
So we ignore the Ides of May,
It didn’t need to be that way.