Capítulo 34: Sonnet Part 7
The white dove perched on a bough beholds
Winter's gripping languish on time and growth
She waits for spring's reign, nature's comely oath
To wash this land with hues of bright and bold
This veil will thaw for a vernal threshold
Inducing spring's burgeoning undergrowth
And verdant marquees for sweet warmth to clothe
The white dove waits for such allure to unfold
Renaissance of motivation and sense
Will be plied to pretermit brumal days.
Time and turns pursue at your own expense
Bitter doubt, cold jealousy to dispense
Idle hands' aptitude for lavish praise
The white dove bides for a shift in conscience
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