Beware the Ides of March
Not really something to be wary
On this evening,
Soft and clear, birds calling
in the pearly dusk, far in time,
miles from Rome.
Better beware the gloom of self,
Locked hard on lonely, forfeiting others',
One's own kindness.
Rather dwell on those fellowship's
Dear, the beauty around, the grace
Of time left.
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