Chameleon Poem by Gert Strydom

I have seen you turn
night black with anger
when you think that you are in danger
the colour of a brown urn

when you are sneaking between rocks that burn
with the heat of the sun, watching me the stranger
with curious rolling eyes while you linger
and I have seen you turn green as you return

to your hiding place in the tree
carefully placing your grabbing toes
with your pink rolled up tongue shooting out
quick as a lightning bolt from which no fly can be free
and sneaking around as most insects’ woes
while turning into a leave or a sprout.