After capital Nature got a drubbing, I am face to shape with perfection Guided by the mirror: optimal reflection. Of course the overdoing needs scrubbing, But where does life go if there is no Way to choose where to get? The opposite of ideal might be awful. A deeply unhappy horse as compared to; It seems to be more of a shape and characteristic Thing, rather than a feeling notion, Yet again, how did it become the idyll For the landscape in question To be pastoral, a red barn, It's not what is natural, that was demolished. So perhaps we are left with testably better. Shh, science, in verse, there must be a look, To see if the papers and experiments Have shown; what; exactly; stuck once more. The opposite of ideal is reality. It turns out, For time and space and circumstance Conspire against the deified Defiling that which would be seen As the best it could be. So being stuck with preference Muddied with unconscious who knows what And aesthetic, taste, smell, disgust, pleasure, I will look to the first letter And see what I see.