A bull imprisoned in a stall
Broke boldly the confining wall,
And found himself, when out of bounds,
Within a washerwoman's grounds.
Where, hanging on a line to dry,
A crimson skirt inflamed his eye.
With bellowings that woke the dead,
He bent his formidable head,
With pointed horns and gnarly forehead;
Then, planting firm his shoulders horrid,
Began, with rage made half insane,
To paw the arid earth amain,
Flinging the dust upon his flanks
In desolating clouds and banks,
The while his eyes' uneasy white
Betrayed his doubt what foe the bright
Red tent concealed, perchance, from sight.
The garment, which, all undismayed,
Had never paled a single shade,
Now found a tongue-a dangling sock,
Left carelessly inside the smock:
'I must insist, my gracious liege,
That you'll be pleased to raise the siege:
My colors I will never strike.
I know your sex-you're all alike.
Some small experience I've had
You're not the first I've driven mad.'
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Comments about this poem (A Challenge by Ambrose Bierce )
- is happening the Is, dr.k.g.balakrishnan kandangath
- What you will get, Emmanuel George Cefai
- The basic ideas Turned, Emmanuel George Cefai
- He feigned, Emmanuel George Cefai
- The echoes plained, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Still here Still here?, Emmanuel George Cefai
- I, the Poet-Seer, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Desperation does what long years Do not .., Emmanuel George Cefai
- The Clock Is Fast Turning, Emmanuel George Cefai
- Emotions occurrences, Emmanuel George Cefai
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