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.”