Her face is frozen, her hands visibly
Like an overstretched violin, her voice high
This woman is suffering, like the bull in the
Her wounds hidden, but uncontrollably
Life, like the picador, has driven her crazy.
Victim to grief, like from the toreador’s
sword, she flounders;
Prey to predators, and deaf to loving
And so sadly, no one can help this woman in
She must gather her energy, as best she can.
Trust people who sincerely care,
Re train her own instinct, her own steadfast
Then she cannot fall, like the doomed bull in