Agama

Up and down as the little leaves
Wave at the blowing wet wind.
Up and down its head painted red
Struggling to soak up the juice of nuts that fell
On its jaws to be munched
Into its bosom craving for more;

Agama clothed in a white sack cloth
Proclaimed king by himself
Not telling any not fearing any
Runs to his hut beneath the rock.
To his aid his wife, shaking in terror
At him her laughter: not telling the little children.
Oh the hail of stones that clouded the sky
Not at a prey the numerous throw of stones
Nor to consume but a fun fare sport

Agama out again in majesty
Surrounded by the open air, their homage
The shadow of a claw it saw come
Too late before his attempt to run
Out of the grip of a hungry claw

Agama screamed, into the air they flew to float
His aid his wife, his rescue never came its haste
Agama sounded his scream aloud, the second louder
Yet stronger a sound than his, he heard
Down and down, so soon they fell faster
Dizzily descending to the ground, the trembling claw his side
Agama runs; run! Agama, run!!
A rush to his hut beneath the rock

The footsteps so soon came in haste, stopping at the spot
The hawk, motionless; in a sack bag behind him
Smoke from his smoky pipe, into the hut to hide
The dog by his side, in his hand a golden gun
All with his dizziness, lost and gone for good.