Sun-Kissed Sentinel: A Poem of the Orange Tree

The orange tree, a sun-kissed sentinel,

With branches reaching for the light,

Its emerald cloak in summer's swell,

A promise whispered through the night.

White blossoms burst, a fragrant cloud,

Perfuming every gentle breeze,

A symphony for senses proud,

A canvas painted with such ease.

The leaves, like whispered secrets kept,

Dance in the wind, a joyful sway,

As tiny fruits, in greenness slept,

Awaken to a brighter day.

The sun, a sculptor, paints them gold,

A citrus crown, a vibrant hue,

Their tangy scent, a story told,

Of summer's warmth, forever true.

A haven for the flitting bee,

A feast for those who climb and see,

The orange tree, a gift so free,

A symbol of prosperity.

Through changing seasons, it remains,

A steadfast friend, a patient soul,

Its roots run deep, etched in the plains,

A story whispered, yet untold.