The Chameleon

Consider the Chameleon, he colours himself and his opinions by the company he's in

In Belfast, he's an Orangeman, the shade is quite ephemeral

Directly he moves south, it fades, In Dublin, look: He's emerald

In church on Sunday he turns gold, and sings the 'love thy neighbour' hymn

Monday he's black and buys a stick, the better to belabour him

He says; 'All men are equal' when in Trinidad or Malibar

But in his green in Paddington, he shouts; 'We'll keep the colour bar'

This parti-coloured fellow, you'll find that underneath, is yellow

With Tories blue, with reds vermilion, and chequered when he meets MacMillian

That's the Chameleon. If that Chameleon were me, I'd be ashamed to sham

Each night, all white between the sheets, I'd wonder who I am