The Snake

Her scales were as green as clover in the afternoon sun.
She hissed her way through marsh and bog
And everyone she saw shrieked and ran away.

She wondered why.

Her eyes were sharp,
But she wouldn't hurt a fly.
(Except for meals.)
Everyone was afraid of her.

She glistened with the beauty of a cold-blooded animal.
She was beautiful, but in a different sort of way.

The snake.