SORT OF SONNET
Across the stretch of grainy, sun-cracked asphalt,
Zigging from a yard to yonder sand lot,
And turning purple-brown from head to hind,
A lizard--frightened by one of my kind.
Not knowing now what color to become,
He stopped his change, his tail a tender azure,
Then scooted back across the sticky tartop
To hide confusion in my neighbor's lawn.
Blest creature, in a moment you'll be mended,
Unlike the "homo sapiens" who stunned you,
The "thinking man" whose motley mental constructs
So often wear the skin of faulty judgment,
But who must live with injudicious error
Because he walks an all-too-public pavement. |
