The Ballad of the Orange

There once was an orange that hung on
To a little orange tree in San Juan.
A girl came one day
And took it away,
And just like that it was gone.

Now she slipped that orange in her pack
For it would make such a fine little snack.
A treat for later,
Oh what could be greater!
And she left without looking back.

But, alas! As the tales all go
This one's filled with its share of woe.
The orange sat for a week
With not one little peek
From the girl who picked it long ago.

And after two or three days
An odor began coming her way.
But she misattributed it to
Just lake water and dew
And so, without her knowledge, the orange stayed.

A week and a half went by
And she could no longer turn a blind eye,
So she unpacked her pack
To find the moldy snack
And let out a horrific cry.

And that, children, is the tale
Of a careless girl who failed
To remember the fruit
That she plucked from the root
And which turned all her belongings stale.