Poinsettias
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Now I know many of you are like me, hand me a poinsettia and it's a death sentence. I could kill one of these in a week flat. Maybe that's why we appreciate them so much, all that beauty lasts such a short time.
This is a journal of my tatting and other needlework adventures. Oh the picture isn't me, it is my fairy me, the me that can fly off in to the woods, forget all my troubles and tat pretty lace all day
1 Comments:
I am not a chicken snorter
I am a chicken snorter's daughter
And I grow Poinsettias
that me mother tends to slaughter
Better duck from flying, dead pot plants LOLOL
Bo & Sue Hanson, from a cold, wet and soggy autumnal London
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