Throw your white glove in a puddle of mud.
Let it represent all of your toil.
The mud won’t get glovey, for crud is still crud,
But your glove, I’m afraid, will be soiled.
Take particular care in the friends that you keep,
For your friends either lift or drag down.
Choose those who propel toward goals that you seek;
Shun those with the cheek and the frown.
Yes, there is room in the world for a kind word to all,
For the saint and the ruffian alike.
Pray, offer your hand to those who would fall,
But be watchful for serpents will strike.
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