The Poinsettia

A short poem about the beautiful Christmas flower, the Poinsettia

It's impossible to miss a poinsettia in the snow.

It's the heart of the winter
dashed and spilled in the pure white.

The poinsettia is but a flower
carelessly lost, cast away.
It freezes as it dies, alone
in the cold.
Longing to be displayed
Alongside others of it's kind.

But instead, it's nothing
but a morbid reminder
of the lost and abandoned
Who've been left all alone
On Christmas morning.