In ancient times, our goals were simplified,

The bonds of lovers forged in dire need

To procreate, to plant in womb a seed

To grow a child and thus ensure one's pride.

But as our every need is satisfied

Without much chance of death, that morbid creed

Has been replaced, and we are free to feed

On fruits from which we'd previously shied.

So what if we would pick from other trees

Companions with more feral, simple minds

With whom we share our love for all their lives?

Leave us to deal with feed, and muck, and fleas

Instead of separating us by kinds

In judgment of our sins, with sharpened knives.