A single red, red orange rolled by my feet
I stopped to pick it up - of course I did,
I'm always doing silly things like that -
And stared at it. It seemed to say to me
A thousand things, and all of them too neat,
To have been true, for meanings should be hid,
And left for those intrigued to gesture at
Without a thought of why they came to be.
I threw the orange away, and do not know
If what it said (so much!) to me was true,
Or whether it would have said more. Instead,
I only know it wasn't hard to throw,
And what it had to tell me about you
Is left inside the garbage - and my head.
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