tangerine, swaying from the tree
beckoning idly, the soft windy sound of the leaves that abound
when you fall to the ground.

tangerine, luring and free
beckoning just within sight and just out of reach
hiding answers like ballroom dancers
waltzing under a leaf canopy.

tangerine, random and careless and fallen from grace
life's a reluctant race, scattered in the damp grass
and the summer days pass, your color breaking like glass.

tangerine, faded forgotten misshapen lost
not worth grocery store cost and you're bound to the soil
as you wither and spoil and your splendor is lost.

© 2008 - Lynn O'Brien