High on a limb, the green Anole sits,
Waiting for a passing meal.
Blowing his orange throat up a bit,
Morphing from lime green to teal.
And then he races up the tree,
So high above the ground.
And sits to see what he will see,
Then slowly turns to brown.
With lightning speed he overtakes,
A grasshopper in it's dreams.
And of his noonday meal he does partake,
Amidst the sunshine's defused beams.
Then he relaxes once again, and gently falls asleep.
The orange throat disinflates.
Turning to green again in dreams so deep
For the evening he waits.
5/3/14 Alton Texas
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The joys of nature watching. Beautifully depicted. We don't have these lizards in northern Illinois, but through your poem I feel I've experienced this observance