Mr. Orange: A Poem

Here is a lonely fruit,

He doesn’t know he’s very cute,

His skin is tough, he rolls alone,

Expressionless, but a striking tone,

On the inside, he is tangy and sweet,

But he’s layered, ‘cause there’s no one to meet,

Unlike others, he doesn’t have a cluster,

Compared to bananas and grapes, he feels lackluster,

So, he just sits here, reflecting on his fruitless life, seeing only what’s in front of him,

He wishes he could travel, but that’s impossible, an orange has no transporting limb.