Orange

The Orange has Children Too Yes, my Monsignor Oranges have children oranges But not so noisy. Monuments of almost-immotility And of slow feelings The oranges have children Too. I saw them hanging ready For the taking Or else for the rotting And the seed-ejection But When they reproduce On a large scale Miniature of The common ancestor tree Of knowledge and of thought And Principles and wisdom Then They will hide in moon-less Nights. They will think always. I walked by casually And did not hear Their brains thinking Beating With the warmth Of the day's dreariness Of the heart beat of it In its wild restlessness Ah! for the orange Albeit slow what multiplication! Yes, my Monsignor Oranges have children oranges But not so noisy To us lecturers and Examples My monsignor.