Ordinary Orange
Growing up in the colorful land
of rich fruits ripened by sunshine,
I waited for the harvest time...
imagining how sweet they tasted.
I carried a basket made of strong wick,
it could hold forty oranges or more,
farmers left them on trees for anyone
who loved to pick them after work.
The orange grove was on the outskirts
of the town with three church towers
and lovely hills bubbling with brooks;
there I sat and ate my tasty oranges.
Around six o' clock, the carroty sun
dropped below the darkening horizon
giving a goodbye kiss to the oranges
not happy to be hidden in darkness.
Until the last day of Fall I picked oranges,
I gave some away to neighbors who smiled;
grandma loved them as in her youth days...
she remembered the orange grove and cried.
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