In the realm where shadows softly play,
Lies a tale of love in endless sway.
Through Shakespeare’s quill, the whispers rise,
With verses tender, beneath the skies.

A sonnet’s grace, a lover’s flight,
In moonlit glow, hearts take their plight.
Words like silk, they weave and twine,
Binding souls in echoes divine.

O, how the quill doth gently trace,
The curves of love in soft embrace.
In every line, a heartbeat’s call,
In every pause, a lover’s fall.

Yet still, the echoes linger on,
In sonnets sung, in verses drawn.
For love, in Shakespeare’s tender view,
Is ever bold, yet ever true.