In this world routed by the shade of a parallel world, a winged woman, holding a crown in a hand and in the other a palm, to ford, crosses an ocean while laughing herself at the floods captivated by her grace.

On it my glance persists.

Struck in the heart by the power of whiteness that irresistibly in the shade it defends, I burn to follow it.

In the routed shade of a parallel world, the passers by come and go, and the rain, the ultimate reason of the sky, neglecting their favours, faithful to the principles of the things, springs the serene heart towards the pavement of opposite where the men, on banks of the day, occupy themselves to repaint the world.