Then they,
With a surge of courage,
Shall find themselves,
Within the arena,
The beast will stand before them,
Weakened and bloody,
Its mind slurred,
And enraged,
And thoose horns shall,
Charge and meet the silk,
Which draws them through,
And round until,
The beast is tired,
And stands feeble,
And then with a glint of steel,
A flashing blade will strike it,
And the sand turn crimson,
The Matador stands,
Triumphant and victourious.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem