He strutted with pride, to fall in puddles,
Stirred stride-by-stride, as ever befuddled,
And 'cause of his generosity,
Of incessant curiosity,
His own cat died, the one he cuddled.
A chameleon he met, and 'fore him press't his case,
"Aye", he did fret, "whatever be thy race?",
"Not black, not white,
I'm seasoned; yet spite,
Gifts plenty-a colour-set, so I hide my hideous face."
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