A Crocheted Potholder

Fecund sewer ingeniously knitted An ornately crocheted potholder was made Bragged her complete oeuvre at first But its worthless in everybody’s sight It may be futile or trifling What can it flaunt is nothing The Cuisiner's hands are sheathed From scorching cauldron was protected No acclaim, no reward travail From first light to nightfall with ill Hard work makes it smeared and filthy At old age, it will be banished away