It’s hard to write a poem
About the color orange
Without the introduction
Of the convenient rhyme of “door hinge.”
But orange is not a color
So much as a happy time
When it shines with gold as a sunset
Over fields of orange and lime.
Orange is every childhood
When you bought the collared shirt
In a pumpkin shade with a purple sweater
As you rolled amidst the dirt.
But as you ran between the Autumn trees
With the citrus sun burning your feet
And your fashion clashing, you realized
Being a kid is pretty neat.
The Daily Travesty 