Corrida!



Where is it, his cherished meadow
 The smell of wet ground in the rain
The green grass and the wildflowers
 which the perfume delighted him

 There is no any green grass here
 There is only the hardened sand
 It is not the rain that wet it
 but the blood flowing from his wounds
 And smell is that of fear and pain

 Where is it, his cherished meadow
 Where are the big trees of the groves
 which he enjoyed the fresh foliage
 listening to the chirping birds

 There is no any birdsong here
 just the cries of so-called humans
 screaming with joy at each new wound
 at each new blade stuck in his flesh

 Where is it, his cherished meadow
 the sun which heated it body
 gentle breeze announcing the spring
 and blue skies dotted with white clouds

 There is a sun burning his wounds
 but he can no longer see the sky
 They have cut tendons of his neck
 for he can no longer raise his head

 Where is it, his cherished meadow
 his brothers with whom he grew up
 his friends and their joyful gallop

 There is no gallop ... he staggers
 silence, the butchers hold their breath
 when the last blade enters his neck

 It is there... his cherished meadow
 After the cold and darkness,
 Soon... soon the green grass forever
 Wildflowers for eternity
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Submitted on September 26, 2015

Modified on April 03, 2023

1:07 min read
3

Quick analysis:

Scheme Abxx cxxdb Axxx cxxx Aexx dxfx Agg xxf axxe
Closest metre Iambic tetrameter
Characters 1,201
Words 225
Stanzas 9
Stanza Lengths 4, 5, 4, 4, 4, 4, 3, 3, 4

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    "Corrida!" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Mar. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/68566/corrida!>.

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