Clean The Attic Poem by Shaun Cronick

When I get awfully blue as one sometimes will,
And my whole way of living seems to be uphill,
When my thoughts are in turmoil,
And I pray for peace be still.
I clean out the attic.

I plunge in determinedly arrayed in shorts and such,
And the sight of all this work doesn't faze me much,
And soon I'm good and dirty,
Dust on everything I touch.
In this old attic.

As a learned reader I have gathered stuff galore,
And piled it in a box or on a shelf or on the floor,
Until the moment I have time,
To file it in a drawer.
In this old attic.

As order comes from chaos so my outlook changes too,
And my burdens seem to lighten and I'm no longer blue,
I learn the answers to my problems,
And what course to pursue.
While in the attic.

For when in solitude you're working a still small voice you'll hear,
That's far too soft for the tumult of life I fear,
But it's there if you but listen,
When you need help or cheer.
Simply clean the attic.