The Boy of the Ides of March

I’ve been dulling my teeth
Trying to taste what’s underneath
Your lovely leaden lips
Deciphering your clever little quips
I won’t mind reading between your lines
So long as those slippery little signs
Bring us to Brigadoon
Someday soon

Because it’s true
I’m feeling kind of fond
Of your eyes of blue
Like Walden pond
Of your soul of gold
Like Western larch
Oh I could grow so old
With the boy of the Ides of March