A slithering serpeant, visited I
Among the sage and scorching dry
It was cool where he rested, benign for a bit
He beckoned, "My dear, won't you come and sit?"
"But you'll bite," said I, "And, I'm quite afraid,
To lounge so near you in the shade."
"Hiss I may, and bite I might,
There is no certainty, 'side from your fright."
I pondered this and thought it strange,
No shame for venom, nor pretense for change.
A leopard with spots, and proud yet still
Though chance lurked near for breath to spill
But, poison or naught, so open was he,
I could not help but lounge trustingly.
He shared his shade, and I, my mind,
Knowing that nature, itself, could unwind.
But fright was gone though threat still there,
Oddly, I came not to care,
For comfort and company enjoyable so,
Should venom strike ... there were worse ways to go.