I lay there, my scales glistening in the sun,
When the ground shook, scaring me.
My body stiffened, ready to run.
I cannot hear danger, only feel and see,
I have no limbs to help me run away.
My scales help… but they are ugly.
While danger approached, there I lay,
Felt waves right beneath my hide,
And on that summer day
I raised my hood, my eyes opened wide,
What I saw made me freeze…
Two legs moving at my side.
Something stabbed my brain, I swayed in the breeze,
And struck out. I hate to kill,
But the venom spills out when my eye sees
Danger. It is no wrong to fill
You with poison, when instincts tell me to.
To act that way is not evil.
I hear your death-scream, there’s nothing to do,
But to shiver in my skin,
And run away from you.
I killed, but my soul is not frozen,
I weep. Is killing a sin?
(This poem is written in the Italian verse form of Terza Rima.)