Like the frog in the pot
Unaware of its fate
And fragile flakes of flint
Finely chipped away
The winds and waters of life
Eroded our affection
Slowly and inexorably
Till the gale blew in
And took what remained
The Ides of March came early
Knives swung in insult and rage
Hitting every heart in the room
With vicious reckless abandon
Exposing rock harder than love
Impenetrable bitterness
The needless tragic fate of fools