There's venom in the straw; don't blow it out
into the sleeping man's nose; he will sneeze,
and it will shoot into your mouth, no doubt
in response to your inadequacies:
Seriously, to plot and scheme ain't cool,
and the truth of the heart always sputters
forward like a hesitant hydrant's drool
before the current takes hold and mutters:
"There are noble minds and ignoble too;
there are happy times and times of sorrow,
but the good hearted flourish through and through,
while deficient souls perish tomorrow."
Of course, this is the water's sense of time;
the heart beats–whether good or bad–as rhyme.