In the golden glow of morning light,
Oranges hang like suns in miniature bright,
Their fragrance whispers secrets old,
Of warmth and stories yet untold.

Beneath the canopy of emerald leaves,
They ripen with the autumn breeze,
A burst of citrus, fresh and sweet,
Nature’s gift, a seasonal treat.

Hands reach out to pluck the fruit,
A testament to nature’s root,
With each bite, a dance of zest,
That fills the heart and soul with rest.

Oh, oranges of the winter’s grace,
You bring the sun’s embrace,
In every peel and vibrant hue,
The world feels anew.