Sonnet II (Devotion comes...)

Twice reconciled, with pleaded heart she learns
of tarnished mettle, given guise of gold,
resplendent only when fervent fire burns,
reflecting all her precious luster bold...
as endless imperfections slowly hue
naive attempts to temper adoration -
composed of brazen certitude and true
emotions strong, but cast in consternation.
How justly does her beauty marvel all
and rouse regret in woeful fools who fail,
like brittle words, to touch her lips in small,
exquisite, pleasure - proving breath a frail,
yet hopeful thing which steels the whispered line,
“Devotion comes...but sets itself in time.”