𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄

𝐏𝐎𝐄𝐌

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In shadows deep, where whispers creep,
A white snake glides through silence steep.
Its scales aglow, like moonlit snow,
A secret tale it seeks to show.

Among the trees, the lion waits,
Majestic, fierce, the king of fates.
With golden mane and eyes of flame,
Untamed, it walks with no fear of shame.

The snake draws near, its gaze serene,
A creature soft, yet strong, unseen.
It coils and weaves, a silver thread,
Around the lion's mighty head.

"Why do you come?" the lion roars,
"Your kind are tales of ancient lore."
But the snake just smiles, with eyes so wise,
And whispers low beneath the skies:

"I am not prey, nor you my foe,
We are both more than we seem to show.
For strength in silence, power in grace,
Lie not in teeth, nor in the chase."

The lion stares, then bows its head,
A bond of trust, though words unsaid.
And so they walk, the night their throne,
The lion fierce, the snake unknown.

Together, strong in heart and soul,
A union pure, a perfect whole.
The lion's roar, the serpent's grace,
A timeless dance through time and space.
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