Plato said we look at trees
and see mere shadows of the TREE
ideal and metaphysical
that trees may well resemble but
never can be truly like.
He did not know that love can turn
the shadow into truth.
My tree becomes imbued with life,
perfection just as pure
as any TREE you care to dream
in ideal abstract form.
So when I say you're beautiful,
life's best in every way,
it's not just what I see but how
you very truly are.
And when I hold your hand I touch
PERFECTION's Form revealed,
for you, my love, are always and
forever my ideal.