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EL TORO BRAVO
©Gary Bowman

On a gentle hill, Where time stands still, Andalusian plain
Young calf stands, Far from man, The wild lands of Spain
 
Into a world of conflict, This little calf was born
Bred for strength of spirit, And sharp and pointed horns!
 
Four years pass, And, at last,This little calf has grown
With massive neck and shoulders, He’s come into his own.
 
Of his courage, might and strength, The people will all sing
This Spanish fighting bull, Is ready for the ring!
 
Wooden gates are opened wide, Wild toro runs inside
Señoritas in the stands, Wave their multi-colored fans
See the mounted picadors, And the golden matador
Dressed in brilliant suit of lights, Is it dance, or is it fight?
 
Cape of scarlet flannel swirls, Cunning bull, he spins and twirls
Cape is swinging full and pure, Bull is charging straight and sure
Aficianados loudly cheer, For this bull who shows no fear,
See the fury in his eyes, As the fans begin to rise
 
Bravely stands the Matador, with lowered cape and sword,
El Toro paws at the dust,
Underneath a glaring sun, Bull and fighter become one,
The charge and - one final thrust