Ironic, that the emerald could be packaged in such a way, that gleaming sparkling gem, dark and green, a cold capulation of summers fair bounties and yet is it not summer? It is not
Mysterious the sparks of steel and flint, the rough edges smoothed away, burned by fire, cut by steel, shined by a soft doe cloth until all is buffed, gleaming.
The glint is alluring
Yet each gem lies in it's own deep chasm, which cannot be bridged.