(Purists will see that I have shat on the convention of the villanelle)

Wise men down the ages will often proclaim

As scholars of Cicero do

“The more that it changes, the more it’s the same”.

Great empires have risen as their zenith came

But nadir would always ensue

“The more that it changes, the more it’s the same”.

The torch of hegemony may brightly flame

But stutters as winds of time blew

“The more that it changes, the more it’s the same”.

We all bathe for our fifteen minutes in fame,

Both sinner and saint as their due

The man with the soup tin would wisely proclaim.

And we on this ant’s nest our sovereignty claim

To pass to inheritors new

Who likewise false ownership vainly proclaim.

We are simply mayflies by some other name

Mere tenants if only we knew

Wise men down the ages will often proclaim

“The more that it changes, the more it’s the same”.