Wine soaked toy soldiers
Playing with the beast
Taunting, afraid
Frightened, the bull enters
Like a lamb out of heaven
Running like a sinner in purgatory
Piercing, bold
Determined, the bull stands firm
Into death’s arms
he lays
To the gates of hell
he marches
Alone, defeated
Towering, the bull charges
Death comes slowly
Like a pale whisper
The spirit of the bull lives on
In the heart of the hunter
In the end, is it not the bull who dies
But the spirit of those who do not defy death?
