I Am Not an Angel

The smiling and quick-handed present their gifts best;
Blarney yields a bright, personal reward of its own to harvest.
 
I wonder how to talk sweet with a venom-dripping tongue;
On balance I cannot admire the art of indirection in the slightest.
 
I know well I am not an angel shorn of varied, dark malevolence;
Yet rooting for my dreams I prepare myself for the litmus test.
 
Let them crow of whatsoever they do; in whatever way they act;
Dinesh, one who is seemly and scrupulous finally gets the crest.