Orange

A colleague & friend told me about this poem the other day and I remembered it tonight as I was about to peel an orange.

The Stolen Orange

When I left I stole an orange
I kept it in my pocket
It felt like a warm planet

Everywhere I went smelt of oranges
Whenever I got into an awkward situation
I'd take out the orange and smell it

And immediately on even dead branches I saw
The lovely and fierce orange blossom
That smells so much of joy

When I went out I stole an orange
It was a safeguard against imagining
There was nothing bright or special in the world

Brian Patten

Thank you Andrew.