The king of bulls lies asleep,
Surrounded by his serfs and courtiers.
A small, red ant bites him sharply between the shoulders,
And he leaps up, incensed by the cheek,
Of someone who dares to cross his majesty.
He runs thrashing and grunting into the crowd,,
Goring people, left, right and center, guilty and innocent,
With our small red friend riding happily on his back.