When the orange groves are blooming,
Petals sweet then fill the air.
From white blooms then that open,
Small clinging oranges they'll bear.

What kind of light will they reach for?
Will they search for the sun's light?
If you were in the grove, Honey,
Your heart would shine very bright.

The sunshine from your sweet heart,
That your heart is so full of,
Trees would lean in search of it,
And the warmth of your heart's love.

When the orange trees are blooming,
Your sunshine they're consuming.