Go to war,
With needle and thread,
Embroider your wounds,
In colours of crimson and red.

Let the scissors and thimble,
Be your weapons of choice,
As you weave tales of triumph,
With every delicate poise.

The mop and the broom,
Shall be your battle gear,
As you sweep away troubles,
And vanquish every fear.

With cutting and grating,
You shall slice through the fray,
And with each knot you tie,
You’ll pave a new way.

Washing and rinsing,
Shall cleanse your soul,
And ironing and folding,
Shall make you whole.

For colours, hues, and tints,
Are your shield and your armour,
And stains that won’t come off,
Shall be your badge of honour.

This ancient technology,
Of knitting and knotting,
Shall be your trusted ally,
In battles worth plotting.