She who wanders

The blossoms started to droop
as she cruised by.
The coldness within her  
has made everything shudder.
Downtown, she strolled gradually, wearing the sublime, red party dress the lad had given her.  
With the golden daisy which had gotten along the edge of her shimmering hair, loaded with sparkles which had bit by bit tumbled to her eyes,  
hurting them, making them tear up.
The daisy didn't shrivel like the others that had never stayed to lament with her.
They say she's cold.
As cold as the primary drop of snow  
until its coldest pinnacle,  
the final remaining one to fall  
when it's the ideal opportunity for spring.  
They say she's inhumane,  
with no feelings to feel by any stretch of the imagination.  
Much to their dismay that she,  
herself had consistently been gallied of the cold.