The Fall Of Julius Caesar Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

Once, when the world was filled with Rome,
through long gone mists of time,
there wasn't any poetry
for Romans couldn't rhyme.

They spent their days in other ways,
their legions loved to fight.
They stooped to conquer everywhere,
and Roman Law was Might.

The legions were victorious
returning back to Rome.
The fun waxed fast and furious
the moment they got home.

Their leader's name was Julius,
a very wily geezer.
With great intent this man was bent
to be another Caesar.

Our Julius loved politics.
He was a fine orator.
With deep dismay, some heard him say
he'd be the next Dictator.

But first he had to woo the crowd;
The Proletariat!
To coax them, and to hoax them,
to show them where it's at.

Some Senators were not impressed,
they mentioned their concern.
They'd heard so many prophecies
that Caesars let Rome burn.

They caught him on the Senate steps,
where Julius got the chop,
although he cried before he died
and begged them all to stop.

He stood there in confusion,
his toga red and bloody,
until he took the final blow
from Brutus his old buddy.

He died before the forum
in manner most malicious,
which only shows you what you get
for being too ambitious.