There were women holding rosaries 

On the day Manolette died
Teenage girls in soft white dresses
Standing silent peace respecting
Groups of boys held in their hands
The fragments of a shattered idol
The old men with their traditions challenged
Refrained from tears
Neck neck hook
Poles of wood
The Picadores stood eyes ablaze
To view brutal contest
In the vale of years
Courage unfailing
Agility exhausted
Youth entered challenge
Reached for title shelved
Patrons in attendance
To disarm a common myth
Homage played to the victor of immortality
Cloaked in bold tones
In the stockyard the beasts
Did climb their barriers
Bid by a frenzied ring
Bred for one purpose only
o die in man's sport
Dash against his spindle
An instant fell to wounding
On the day
Swords penetrating
On the day Torches igniting
On the day
Flower wreaths encircling
The day On the day


Over your shoulder, please don't mind me if my eyes have 

fallen onto your magazine for I've been watching and wondering why
your face is changing with every line you read. All those lines
and circles, to me, a mystery. Eve pull down the apple and give
taste to me. If she would be wonderful, but my pride is in the
way. I cannot read to save my life, I'm so ashamed to say.
I live in silence, afraid to speak of my life of
darkness because I cannot read. For all those lines and circles,
to me, a mystery. Eve pull down the apple and give taste to me.
If she could it would be wonderful. Then I wouldn't need someone
else's eyes to see what's in front of me. No one guiding me.
It makes me humble to be so green at what every kid can
do when he learns A to Z, but all those lines and circles just
frighten me and I fear that I'll be trampled if you don't reach
for me. Before I run I'll have to take a fall. And then pick
myself up, so slowly I'll devour every one of those books in the
Tower of Knowledge.