Cold and stark morning light shone across the bedside table,

Lighting there upon its path,
A half filled glass of water that so able,
Did best attempt to quench drunken thirst the night before.

A smear of dirt caked upon its side,
And kissed the rim with what seems to be a filthy pride and long awaited surprise.

No doubt lifted from the dirty wash bowl,
And lightly rinsed with flowing cold transparent gold,
Before returning to duty in the hands of the inebriate.

Disgust at first that through such filter,
Did moisture pass to my lips,

Who knows how altered,
That now contaminated water.

But then remembered the quench'ed thirst
And soothing relief delivered in the hour so desperately needed,
The now cloudy remnant,
Was a bliss to the drunken man,
Despite its sediment.

Yet would knowing of such grime,
Have halted the thirst in need of quenching in past drunken time?

I wonder?

Lift the glass to lips for one more sip,
And then when no fate of pain and death anticipated falls,

I lift the glass...
And drink once more.