Oranges sway, play, tambourines with tangerines.
With a sluice, drain their juice, leave them … as shells.
Seeds resound in the empty hollow bells
to make tambourines that play when winds swell.
Shake my little tambourine--
which was once a tangerine—
your glorious sound will reign.
The orange naval officer proudly nods:
“Play on—trees will squeeze more water to our ‘bods’.
We will be the biggest and the best … with ease
when we, in co-operation, seek to please.”
Shake my little tambourine--
which was once a tangerine—
your glorious sound will reign.
Just think of the color they share gaily.
They give us more than fruit … and they give gladly.
If we could make music, going out as in,
then death, the end, wouldn’t seem horrid or grim.
Shake my little tambourine--
which was once a tangerine—
your glorious sound will reign.