The Stolen Orange

When I left I stole an orange I kept it in my pocket It felt like a warm planet

Everywhere I went smelt of oranges Whenever I got into an awkward situation I’d take out the orange and smell it

And immediately on even dead branches I saw The lovely and fierce orange blossom That smells so much of joy

When I went out I stole an orange It was a safeguard against imagining There was nothing bright or special in the world

http://brianpatten-potm.blogspot.com.au/2008/09/stolen-orange.html

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(There seem to be two versions of this poem. The version above is on Brian Patten’s own web site, so maybe it’s canonical. But I think I prefer the version which replaces the word “left” in the first line with “went out”. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that other version in one of his books. I’ll try to check later. Jason)