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
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