They rarely stay red for long

Holly in a pot would be better

And makes a superior Christmas song

but every year they appear in their glory

Doomed to an early demise

Every year a familiar story

Gone faster than a plate of mince pies

They come from the central American plain

Where it’s hot and it’s dusty and dry

Where you hardly ever get caught in the rain

And snow doesn’t bother to try

Yet here in our wet and cold

season

They sit like red soldiers on shelves

Without logic or purpose or reason

Amongst Christmas crackers and elves

And people absent mindedly buy them

To share with their family and friends

Knowing full well that they’ll die then

And those red leaves will fall in the end

To leave some stray stems gently browning

A sight so un-festively bad

Like a Santa whose face is fixed frowning

Or a Snowman that’s melted and sad

By Christmas Eve they’re going cheap

Alongside Christmas socks for him and her

Destined for the compost heap

Like last year’s advent calendar

 

No - there can be no decoration un-merrier

Than the wilting Euphorbia Pulcherima

 

R A Porter