The Whispering Tree of Pear and Bloom
Beneath the blush of blossom white,
Where springtime dreams unfurl in light,
The pear tree bends with gentle grace—
A bower kissed by fae embrace.
Her roots run deep in loamy song,
Where garden sprites and fae belong.
No thorn, no curse, no watchful shade—
Just laughter where her fruit is laid.
She calls to those with hearts made bare,
To lovers lost, to souls that dare.
With petals soft as first desire,
She fans the spark, then feeds the fire.
A dryad dwells within her bark,
A spirit kind, with eyes like lark.
She braids her hair with bloom and dew,
And grants a dream to those who woo.
Leave milk and honey near her base,
Or garlands twined with bridal lace.
Then whisper low your longing plea—
And she may bless your legacy.
No portal torn by fae domain,
No wild hunt thundering through the plain—
But rather here, in orchard hush,
The fae bestow their gentler touch.
For love is not just storm or flame—
It’s steady bloom, and blossom’s name.
And in her fruit, a charm remains—
To heal the heart, to sweeten pain.
So rest awhile beneath her shade,
And let your sorrow, slow, cascade.
She’ll catch your tears in fertile earth—
And plant in you a second birth.
WoPoLi 
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