O Ides of April, why do you trouble us so,
In the middle of Spring, this black day we know?
On you no kingly murder was foretold;
Is it jealously of March which makes you bold?
You bring a whisper of the things we lost,
A memory of what this year has cost.
A little mourning and a quiet cry,
As to our fortune we say good bye.
Yet Summer will a brand new fortune grow;
O Ides of April, why do you touble us so?

I am not entirely sure what inspired this, but I think I broke up with my girlfriend shortly before the Ides of April.