The Attic Poem by Richard Bland

A man knocked on my door one day
And asked to be let in
He said that he would clean my house
And so I said begin
He cleaned the first few rooms
And I liked what he had done
He started toward the attic door
And I said, not that one
The next few took him longer
For they'd been so long like that
Strange comfort found in filth
Surrounding me where I had sat
Still, happy with the cleanliness
Again when he was done
He glanced up to the attic door
And I said 'Not that one! '
You see I've got it all arranged
The way I like up there
And I allow no one to see
Not even from the stairs
He said you only think you like it better
Clean I must
What profit could there ever be
In holding on to dust
I said you must not understand
I think you'd better leave
He said don't trust your foolish heart
It's me you must believe
So I'd invite my friends to see my nice clean house and then
Go crawling to my dusty attic
Time and time again
As time went by the dust grew thick
I'd choke and faint up there
And wake to find disgusting insects
Nesting in my hair
I was then so unhappy
That I searched and found the man
And begged him, clean my attic
As clean as you can!
He said I'm glad you realize the worth of finding me
And having all your rooms be clean
For all the world to see
I had to let you suffer so you'd come to see your need
But now that I have set you free
You shall be free, indeed.