Oh, gentle hue of emerald green,
A color that doth oft be seen,
Upon the scales of serpents sly,
Or leaves that rustle ‘neath the sky.
And what of creatures that do roam,
With fur as black as darkest loam?
The panther, fierce and free of will,
Whose strength and grace doth oft thrill.
But lo, what object doth appear,
A thing of beauty, sharp and clear,
A sword that gleams in morning light,
A weapon fit for any knight.
And yet, amidst these things so fair,
Two men whose love doth fill the air,
Their hearts entwined in passion true,
A bond of love that doth renew.
For love doth know no bounds nor form,
And in its light, all things transform,
So let us celebrate this love,
As pure as snow, as bright as dove.
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