Only The Lonely Hearts
A collection of personal poetry
March 15, 2016
IDES OF MARCH
On marble steps stained deep and dark
the senate slew Rome’s patriarch,
stabbed as if within a play
beneath the theater’s arch.
Oh, rue the day! “Et tu, Brute?"
Beware the Ides of March!
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I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
- Lord Alfred Tennyson,