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            What do we mean, proclaiming our true love,
            Pledging our devotion under Heaven's eyes?
            Can legion Man tap this nectar from above,
            Or can these honeyed moanings be only fleeting lies?
            Is this force, for which the proud Ilium fell,
            Which toppled Arthur's fabled hall,
            The sounding of emotion's highest bell
            Or just the soporific demon's call?
            Must we accept the base and counterfeit,
            Which illumines with love's false light,
            Or can we purify our clouded wit
            And find our soul's potential might?

            For love, as the ancient books repute,
            The bosom's heat is but a substitute.

               William Jeffrey, 3 November 1995

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