Goodness gracious, Mom! Let me help you up with a bit of poetry:

Roses are red,
Blood is too,
Mom, I skewered
My opponents for you.

Yes, I ran them through
With a yard of steel
Spleen or brow
My sword they'd feel.

Six of them now
As cold as clay
With MOAB slashed on 'em
Instead of a Zay.

I'm sorry, dear Mom,
That I'm late by a day
But danged few wear swords
Out Idaho way.

    -- Sirano Di Bareback, Mother's Day Gems
      (Carcasson By Moonlight: Nasal Press, 1612)