The psychedelic patterns dazzle me,

As it sits on the rock as still as one.

Contemplating upon the bugs that flee,

The chameleon basks under the sun.

Sitting still, it rolls its eyes stealthily

And spots an oblivious tiny slug.

Unblinking, it darts out its tongue swiftly,

Catches its prey and awaits the next bug.

Sensing the risk of becoming the prey,

It’s rainbow markings dull to a green hue.

I watch in awe how well it can adapt

From green to orange to yellow to grey.

We are chameleons. We have this tact,

To change, alter, transform and start anew.