A mesh bag of daffodil bulbs
failed to
meet their destiny
last
October--no blooms
in March--but nature is resourceful.
Waiting
patiently
on
my covered patio,
they've become the answer
to one
chameleon's heart
desire.
He's obsessed
with what he can't quite reach.
Crawling
over the porous
bag,
his color shifting
from green to brown, he can't quite
leave them
alone. What's he doing?
Making
a tiny supper
from their bulk, sharing his love
for his
world, my yard?
Or
is he crowing
in chamo-speak that he is free
and they
are not. He is exactly
what
he was born to be.
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