The Scarlet Emerald

I see the emerald stones that embellish her shroud. There is an aching beneath those jade charms that I have seen. She buries her feeble manners in a cloak ever so cold. Never shall she bear the complemented agony of affection. There is a great sorrow in her propensity to shield her heart. No one shall ever cherish the vivid crimson drifting from her pate. Her splendor is absolute, but only her rigid covering is apparent. The tallies of sorrows sustained during her life have sullied her soul. These deeds I have witnessed while perched along the sides. In a status only to spectate I cannot force people see within her. The fair skin and strong frame only fronts what lies below. She can love deeper than the Pacific trenches of Mariana. That stiff face can ease into a smile mirroring the birds of paradise. She has a spirited laugh when it declares the delight in her heart. This scarlet duchess has imprisoned the most marvelous of her features. She wears a mantle life built, and it conceals her rightful appeal. Is it futile to try and love such a splendid soul in a method of proper? For, I am incapable of unveiling her radiance forsaken to this world. I do not know if my scarlet emerald will ever be appreciated again.