A flash of jet satin flanks,
A glimpse of horns as hard as iron,
Rippling muscles with the power of tanks,
Immortally hunted by Orion,
He’s cast in starry constellation,
Son of Taurus, foe of man,
Shimmering with perspiration,
A swathe of red and then he ran,
Snorting and with hooves like thunder,
He bolted at the matador,
Casting up the dust from under,
He hasn’t choice; he lets out a roar,
Such is the sadness of this fight,
He has the mobbing crowds to sate,
This gallant beast, as black as night,
Has come all too soon to meet his fate.