You couldn't believe
so quiet could be the croc
its eyes a wise sage
scales rigid rock

lay frozen on the mud
no flies could stir
stubbornly in trance
mind elsewhere

sixteen feet in size
dumb cool in creek
in the hermit's guise
lamblike tender meek

pounce it does when needs
not preys on what eats not
the human hunter feeds
on hatred and whole lot.