My poinsettia has made it through two Christmases

now heading for a third.

A former editor used to fundraise for Rotary,

and I was sure to support them.

Back then they died before January was in full swing.

Was it Maine winters? The cold? The lack of light?

Here in Mayo, I’m to three plants in our front room.

Late June and they’re lush with velvet leaves and

tiny yellow cyathia.

 

Aldi, tell me, did you know your Christmas poinsettias

keep going…and going….and going.

Some days I forget to water. Am down to watering once

weekly.

Dried out soil, airy light pot quickly dampened

and BOO! They bounce back.

Last year’s are full, lush, upon the windowsill.

The one from the Christmas before has shed its leaves,

re-bloomed its yellow berries and scarlet leaves.

 

The cats have abandoned the fireside,

late June log burning,

tucked themselves deep within the duvet.

Hubby’s mashing ginger nuts, slicing out

one at a time from the pack stack.

Soon, he’ll nap.

Eyes too heavy to follow the print of his book.

Sated with food, fire, now words,

he’ll putt-putt a gentle snore while the

fire temperature guage reaches vertical

the flames hum and gyrate through the logs.

Summer firesides.

Soothe the soul.