A pear is a seed my darling dear
And if You, my sweet pear, was a sapling
it would take a thousands years
for You to be as wise as the young redwood tree
in the forest by the salty sea

You don't pick the buds off the rose bush
expecting them to blossom in Your possessive hand
You wait for the perfect moment for the bud to open
sharing her beauty with the sunlight
only then allowing You to gaze at her full glory

And a whole year has gone by for the tree
in which You call home to bloom,
The tree that provides a safe haven for You to ripen
in a burrow between her leaves
protecting You from harsh nights

My dear fruit, You are not ripen yet
You have a couple more months
bloom my sweet pear
if You are too hasty
and allow the nats to gorge on Your splendor
then You will no longer be of value to anyone

I will discard You
my lips will never kiss Your gorgeous skin
You will never be chosen at the market
tucked away in a basket
given as a precious gift.
You will be thrown
mixed into compost
to live the rest of Your days
rotting, unhappy, until You die;
A spoiled little fruit.