29 NOVEMBER 1963, Page 11

Platonic Love

Do not mistake me, love is like a weed; She grows in rank profusion everywhere, O'er hill and vale, meadow and pasture bare And careful cultivation does not need.

Friendship is otherwise; her tender seed In fear and trembling you must sow, prepare Anxious the generous soil, with loving care The first green shoots, the budding blossom feed.

Poor fallen Adam, when at last he saw The Angel's flaming weapon put an end To all his ease and bar the garden door, Dug straight the barren soil his case to mend.

So I too, Juanita, stricken sore Scrape the soil frantically to gain a friend.