Riper

Riper than the morning dew on autumn’s hedge,
The pear swells soft, its skin a blush of rose—
Each curve a promise, each sigh a pledge
That sweetness waits where patient amber glows.

In orchards quiet, time’s unhurried tread
Turns starch to sugar, shy to bold,
A quiet alchemy where hopes are fed
By sun’s low kiss and earth’s enduring hold.

So let us grow, not merely wait to fall,
But ripen deep, enriching every call—
For true ripeness lives not just in fruit,
But in the heart that learns to taste the root.