In golden hue, a color rare and bright,
The sun’s own rays, a spectacle of light.
A lion roams, majestic and so grand,
With fiery mane, the pride of this fair land.
An object small, yet holds a mighty power,
A quill, a scribe’s tool, in every word, a flower.
With ink, it weaves tales of love and desire,
Transcribing thoughts that set hearts all afire.
Two men entwined, their love a secret deep,
In shadows they meet, their passion they keep.
Their hearts ablaze, like sun and lion’s flame,
Yet bound by chains, they dare not speak their name.
But love, relentless, cannot be contained,
In whispered vows, their souls forever chained.
Their quill, their shield, their stories they unfold,
For love, like color, cannot be controlled.
So let us celebrate this love so true,
Like golden sun, like lion’s fiery hue.
With quill in hand, their tales we shall embrace,
For love knows no bounds, no color, no space.
