Love was not invented in my time
There were so many words for this
None took it quite as seriously
Instead we searched ‘The Truth’
Our Ethical Symposiums
Accompanied by many
Modicums of aged Caecuban wine
Often ended in debauchery
I marvel now most modern men
Seem to love themselves above all else
And yet
They place less value on their own esteem
Than that conferred by others
They make themselves as slaves
To any passing trickster-in-the-Arts
Soothsaying mind-mechanic
Or ambitious Political pest
I have the Antidote –
On a planet in negative equity
In a world of change and chance
The meaning of ‘true love’ is ‘food for all’
And we must nurture one another
Bernard Saint
Illustration: ‘Ubuntu’ Claire Palmer