Leopard Poem by robert dickerson

A leopard doesn't know he's a leopard-
all that's in your head
frozen by your horror
he'd rather be dead
then monkey with you at all. He
rises from his bed
at red nightfall
when the moon gets extra-big
and the trees get tall,
puts on his spots
draws the dark's long veil
over his leopard's head
and bounds away
twirling his tail
elegantly eliding
into the swale;
and slithering up the croft
of an ebony tree
beside a moon-drenched pool
he hangs
dreaming of one of those delicious gazelle.
All so very,
very cool.
And it isn't his fault,
it's not his sin
if you see a man
in leopard skin.