I savored this morning At the breakfast table, Gazing out the window On an unusually cold Southern California winter’s Day, The last orange. I picked it from the ground After we took down the Dying orange tree, which, Once sawn open, revealed A hollowed trunk, the heart Wood long rotten Away. ‘Tis a wonder that such a Tree, more a shrub, Could produce any fruit, Although it was mostly Rind, lacking much meat Or juice, but still Sweet.
Orange Tree
Orange Tree
Orange Tree
I savored this morning At the breakfast table, Gazing out the window On an unusually cold Southern California winter’s Day, The last orange. I picked it from the ground After we took down the Dying orange tree, which, Once sawn open, revealed A hollowed trunk, the heart Wood long rotten Away. ‘Tis a wonder that such a Tree, more a shrub, Could produce any fruit, Although it was mostly Rind, lacking much meat Or juice, but still Sweet.