The domination of the potted plant

They are still alive, bright red, dominant,Christmassy,
And it's nearly March I fear.
I suppose I ought to be thankful there's only two of them,
Not five, like last year.
Generous Christmas gifts, brilliant and beautiful,
But still here.

I could put them in the garden
Where they'd die.
But I have a conscience, and they were given to me,
So I daren't try.

In the utility there's an orchid thankfully given.
it cam in June,
But with flowers fallen, and not a change to be seen,
Will it once more bloom ?

I could put it in the garden
Where it would die.
But I have a conscience, and it was given to me,
So I daren't try.

There's a peace plant ,junglt like, dark green
Sitting in a pot.
It has a habit of suddenly wilting in desperation
For water, like it or not.

I could put in in the garden
Where it would die.
But I have a conscience and it was given to me
So I daren't try.

Am I in bondage to other people's gifts to me?
I delight to receive them
But they go on existing when my interest in them has waned
And I long to leave them.

Now fresh cut flowers are a different matter!