The Ides of March come on the morrow,
They bring to us such benign sorrow,
There is no direct threat,
Nor warnings just yet,
We just fear every day called tomorrow.
I can’t remember all the books that I’ve read,
All the movies I’ve seen or the foods that I’ve fed,
All I know is that tomorrow,
Be it joyful or full of sorrow,
My experiences are the guides and so I’m led.l