A farmer’s hands, so strong and so worn,
Cradle a lion, like a child born,
In a tub of water, a sight to behold,
A majestic beast, with a story untold.
The lion’s mane, a tangled golden hue,
Glistens with droplets, as the farmer pours anew,
The water’s soothing, a gentle summer rain,
Calming the savage, and easing its pain.
The farmer’s face, a map of creases and age,
Softens with kindness, in this tender stage,
He washes the lion, with a gentle touch,
A bond of trust, in this unlikely clutch.
The lion’s eyes, a piercing gaze so bright,
Shine with a gratitude, in the warm sunlight,
It leans into the touch, with a gentle sigh,
A testament to, a friendship so rare and high.
In this rustic scene, a beauty so true,
A farmer and lion, a bond shines through,
A tale of compassion, in a world so grand,
A reminder of love, in this unlikely land.
