The puny, blackish, wingéd bull
Kept daring me with overfull
Aplomb within its turgid eyes
While sitting on my bowl of rice,
Then rubbed its hands as if the boss
Of hooligans and planned to toss
My peaceful supper time away,
And fill me with intense dismay.
So, then I thought to swat it flat,
But did not have the knowledge that
Its feelers were more active than
The mere five senses of a man—
I missed. It flew. Hid in my hair,
And God knows what amused it there;
Annoyed my scalp for quite a while,
Then flew off with a mocking smile.