Oranges Poem by McKenzie Spaulding

While devouring a fresh orange straight off of the branch
Feeling the sticky juices stream down my fingers.
The warm, southern breeze ripples my hair.
I stare out over the vast expanse of land and vegitaion.
The tantilizing smell of lemon, orange, and strawberry waft through the air.
The sunset of gold and orange rays fade over the edge of the land.
The heavens turn black as the last section of orange tickles my taste buds.