An Ode to Jim's MAsk

A dirty mask, once fresh and clean,
ow marked by dust and attic sheen,
Its once-white fabric now stained and gray,
From hours spent in the attic fray.

It clung to my face, with every breath,
As I pulled wires, and crawled through the mess,
Dirt and grime, clung to the mask,
It was now a reminder of the attic task.

The mask that once, protected me so,
Was now a symbol, of the hard work below,
Though it was worn and tattered now,
It kept me safe, as I worked with a bow.

For all the filth, and dust, and grime,
That it endured, time after time,
It held its own, with every chore,
And kept me safe, as I worked more.

​So, here's to the dirty mask, that still stands,
And kept me safe, in the attic lands,
A reminder of hard work and sweat,
And a mask that, though dirty, never let.