The Great iron figure crouches,
Scabs like flowers on his knees,
And his chest is like a mountain
And his legs are thick as a tree.

He spits blood like a cherub
In a fountain spouting foam,
Ringed around by swing ropes
And punters going home.

Broken- knuckled, skinny eyed,
Battered, bruised, and wet
With droplets like cold rubies,
And laced with bitter sweat.

He crouches in a corner
In his pool of sparkling red
And dreads the jeers which soon fall
Like blows upon his head.

in any way give me any idea’s about this story.