by Matt Harmless
He stands within his stall of wood,
That long term resident the bull.
Around he's been since barn has stood,
With docile splendor at its full.
Be not deceived at quiet stance,
Impression made at the first glance,
For underneath the tranquil stare,
This behemoth doth really glare.
So when the wooden fence is lowr'd
You'll find real quick you have been gored.
(Yes. It has a secondary meaning. I am not actually writing about a bull.)