Kate
M
“Beware
the Ides of March,”
she
said. “I shall be safe,” laughed Caesar.
“though
the people view me as a king,
a
total brute,
one
such as Brutus
who
would not let me get stabbed
Me.
Yes, what a foul thought. Stabbed!
Me!”
On the
fifteenth of March.
“Brutus
Will
protect me. For if I die, I die, and I cannot change fate.” Caesar,
made
a great mistake, that brute,
when
he proclaimed himself dictator of life, the dreaded king.
Yes,
king!
Many
would willingly stab
to
free themselves from him, a brute.
In
the middle of March,
Caesar
will
die at the hand of Brutus,
his
friend, Brutus!
For the desire of becoming king,
Caesar
died.
Stabbed.
On
the Ides of March.
“Et
tu Brute?”,
were
the brute’s
last
words, to Brutus.
On
the fifteenth of March
to
be king,
he
sacrificed all. Only to be stabbed,
The
great Caesar.
“Caesar!
Dead!
What a happy day, to be rid of that brute!
May
the gods bless he who stabbed
him.
Who did?” “Many people, but Brutus!
Who
he trusted above all, in his fight to be king.”
That
day in March.
Rejoice! This day in March, for the great Caesar, is
dead.
For
the sake of freedom over kingship, he spoke “Et tu Brute?”
By
Brutus he was stabbed. Only to be taken
over by Augustus, one as foul as the great
conqueror.