Talking Bull

Matadors are a trouble,

Especially to me.

I’m not talking bull

But a talking bull, you see?

They stab at me with sticks

And lash at me with lances;

They make me really mad

With their tricky little dances.

I want them to leave

So with my horns I give a warning

To try and ward them off

At least until tomorrow morning.

They’re relentless, and they’ll kill me,

Unless I run away

So that is what I do

And you’d best get out my way!

© Ben Cotton

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s