If the chameleon ever fears
The melting into another shade,
The switching from brown to green
Fearing it can never reverse the change?
Or if it welcomes the bleeding of color
The concealment from probing eyes?
If the chameleon ever wonders
If the blending in dulls its senses
And robs a something from its life?
Or if it blithely obeys the commands of instinct
And finds shelter in the safety
Of being same?
If the chameleon ever tires
Of the constant change of outward identity
And wishes for once to be normal?
Or if it always embraces
The new pigment without restraint