The bull
Is full
Of ire
And fire.
Its horns
Are thorns
Which may
Dismay
The brave
Who crave
For name
And fame.

Some bells
And shells
Bedeck
Its neck.
It could
And would
Beg peace
On knees.
But starts
And snorts
At red
Instead.

You can,
O man,
Have right
To fight
Your kind
Unkind.
The beast
At least
Should be
Set free.
And hear
With fear
The bells
Or else
My rhyme
Will chime
Your knell
From hell.