Plato drew blank cards more real than real,
A phantom deck for every mystic deal.
He shuffled it and cut it on the sly,
Up-sleeving all the aces from the eye.
Then Aristotle spake, “I’ll make no start
In any deal that clubs the truth apart.
Go shovel phony spades for blind-eyed youth;
I’ll keep my solid diamonds for the truth.”
Then Plato tilt the table, sent the deck
All topsy-turvy to the floor. “Oh, heck,
This real stuff never stays the same;
So un-ideal, like shadows without fame!”
“But you,” said Aristotle, stay complete,
A shady thinker and a perfect cheat.”