Ode to Orange

Orange smells of warm October,
Of pumpkins, and of crumbling leaves,
Of heavy vines that climb all over,
Tiny berries on the eaves.

Orange thinks itself a setter
Of the very latest trends.
Orange thinks that it is better
Than any of its color friends.

Orange glistens, orange shines,
In an opal, on a peach.
Rarely can there be a time
When orange isn’t within reach.

And nothing rhymes with orange
Because it’s so unique.

November 10, 2005.