the ides of march have come and gone
their solemn oaths traipsing
snorts and stutters and shimmerings of such
oh what hell this is raising!
the world ended once before, they cry
such are folly claims of woe
the trees may fall and the storms may blow
but no, we will never go!
the village carries on as nothing is amiss
with routine events and frivolous affairs
that simply cannot be skipped...
