Her face is frozen, her hands visibly
trembling.
Like an overstretched violin, her voice high
and excitable.
This woman is suffering, like the bull in the
ring;
Her wounds hidden, but uncontrollably
internally bleeding.
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
advisors.
And so sadly, no one can help this woman in
need.
She must gather her energy, as best she can.
Trust people who sincerely care,
Re train her own instinct, her own steadfast
friend,
Then she cannot fall, like the doomed bull in
the ring.