Thirst – A Sonnet

O water so impure, why must I try

So hard to shake your taint of rot and ground?

You fill the air, but I’m left high and dry:

Two-thirds of me, but not one drop around.

The tang of grit pairs poorly with your flow;

I miss how easy safe quench should have been.

You should power my steps and fuel my glow;

Instead I fear you rot me from within.

When not one pipe in town runs safe and clear,

The worst of promises drown in each drink;

The worst of viral dangers rest so near,

The worst of rainbows stain each spoiled sink.

Well-wishers lack a gladder tale to tell,

And will ‘till Earth’s true lifeblood finds the well.