Did someone forget to tell the young bull
That this retired killer had no pull?
Or did the young bull come to seek revenge,
With some friend or family to avenge?
This goring had no trace of Hemingway,
Who found glory in the heat of the day:
Young men fighting bulls in the afternoon
To win a good life—or lose it too soon;
Ricardo, who spent his youth under threat,
Now under shadows lengthened by sunset.
Years ago, I heard a bull cry in pain.
Ever since then I have harbored disdain
For those who make living creatures suffer.
It seems as though death should be enough for
A bloodthirsty crowd seeking amusement.
Still, who am I to pronounce this judgement
After years of consuming bullish meat
Slaughtered in even more painful defeat?
Those sharp horns were Ricardo’s destiny.
Now I fear what Destiny plans for me.
“Retired matador killed by bull ahead of bullfight in southern Spain” CTV News, 4 April 2026