A tyrant's death is sacred,
it's great to do one in.
The moment fades to naught
as Senators try to win.
Upon the Ides of March
be careful who is tapped,
a usurper might just burp
when poisoned food is lapped.
It might be in the wine.
Does it season chicken?
It might be in the soup,
used to make it thicken.
A bird tweets from the perch
the new ringleader rides;
this oppressor lies
every day not Ides.
His mem'ry not assured
by thoughts this hallowed day,
he'll be an orange-ish stain
upon some Appian Way.
Barry G. Wick
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