Poetry in...Unlikely Places

I have an awesome little poem to share with you. It's on the container that holds our dried beans, or razma. I'm sharing it because, just as Indian washing machines play music when the wash is done, cars play rowdy music when backing up, and water purifiers have 'music while you fill your bottles' options, so can one find poetry on ordinary objects.

It says something about India, and the hardness of life here, I think. People look for opportunities to make their existence a little more colorful, a little more...poetic. Now please don't misunderstand me: it's atrocious poetry, just as the mechanical music is atrocious. But it's poetry nonetheless. You know, so you have a little something to read while you're cooking...

Seest thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it,
Already March bath vanish'd
And new-born flowers are shooting.

And because I know you were wondering...yeah, the container has oranges all over it. So there you go.