All hail Ceaser, as he enters the stage
Decked out in his royal toga and garland crown
With flashes of deep red ruby
He bedazzles the eye as he walks by
Along a path lined with larkspur
He rules the dog days of summer
His strength comes from the heat
That beats upon your back
With promises of storms to take up the slack
You’ll find him by day sitting by the pond
Watching the frogs swim through the water lilies
With a peaceful smile upon his countenance
He naps throughout the sweltering afternoon
With the coming of each night
He watches the moon for its waxing and waning
Waiting for the Buck Moon to appear
With the growth of the stag’s antlers
Signifies the closing of his time
And as he leaves his stage to make room for Augusta
All he can say is Et tu, Brute
About the Creator
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also become a paid subscriber, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.