Poetry is not the only orange fruit

It has been said

(though not out aloud)

that poets dislike the orange fruit,

and would rather muse upon the blue, red, green,

or yellow;

but, saying that

(still not out aloud),

the poet is a funny fellow,

who rhymes his words

like migrating birds

seeking far continents,

to use an image from above;

the poet is happier, by far,

when writing words of love –

Roses ‘are’ red,

violets are… well, violet, to be honest,

and oranges are…

… just unmentionable, towards the end of a poet’s life sentence.


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