Watching the Matador

The roaring bull enters the arena; clouds of dust raise. Then the slender matador in tight attire arrives; he has no knowledge of who is watching. The prettiest girl in traditional dress has set eyes on him; her posture is elegant. A red flower in her dark hair suggests an inflamed passion. It's a scorching day in Madrid; the fan she holds does little or nothing to keep her cool. Thoughts in their minds contradict; she's the admirer from the balcony. He is the fighter in the arena. He must kill that bull to win her; fierce are his looks while his hands keep on fanning the red cloth to gain control. He can't lose this fight; he must win at any cost. It's a battle of strength and pride; man against animal. Ah, the bull succumbs to injury... maestro grabs his horns and claims victory! " O Matador, my matador... you are the bravest one in all Spain! " Stretching her arms. .