In groves where sunlight dances through the leaves,
The oranges hang like tiny suns aglow,
Their scent a whisper in the morning’s breath,
A promise of sweet nectar, ripe and low.

Upon the boughs they sway with gentle grace,
Each one a sphere of vibrant, golden light,
Beneath the azure sky, their colors blaze,
A feast for eyes that wander in delight.

The hands that pluck them feel their tender weight,
Each touch a story of the earth’s embrace,
A journey from the soil to warmth and fate,
A citrus symphony in time and space.

When peeled, the fragrance fills the air with dreams,
Of sunlit days and laughter’s sweet refrain,
The oranges, with all their secret schemes,
Bring joy to hearts and memories to gain.