seville oranges

Oranges of Seville

Orange juice in morning sun,
As fresh as the new born day
A chill before the shadows lift
Calm before the din and bray
Occasional clatters of coffee cups
As a waiter clears a table
And then skulks away for a cigarette
To enjoy when he is able
The lovers walked through orange groves
Seeking breakfast for to kill
The hunger pangs that furrow brows
And hamper love's goodwill
As bitter as the oranges
Was the story from the maid
The fruit will simply fall and rot
And not be used in marmalade
For demand from England has declined
Yet the groves they linger still
Reminders of a golden age,
The oranges of Seville. 

© Severn Dwyer. 2015

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