By Hilda Conkling
You jerk, against the sun,
You twist your diamond wires and greengold scales,
You tilt your body . . . head down . . .
You quiver . . .
Are you angry or only excited?
I should think the ferns might be excited
Feeling you there:
And you never mention the reasons
For your coming.
Sure of your wings
You have time in the air for thinking:
You poise and are content.
But only lizards among old stones
Can find as you find the unexpected turning:
You say It is time to go!
And you have gone.
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