“Mama, can you tell me again, that story about the dirty old men.”

Mama, can you tell me again,  
That story you told when the rain tapped the den?  
The one of the gentlemen old and so grim,  
All covered in soot till the lights became dim.  

You’d laugh as you told it, with sparkle and gleam,  
About Mr. Hobbs and his chimney sweep team,  
They’d march down the lane in jackets of gray,  
Brushing the dirt and the cobwebs away.  

With faces all smudged, and hands rough and worn,  
Their boots left dark prints on the grass in the morn;  
But when they were done and the fires could roar,  
They’d tip their old hats as they left through the door.  

I liked how you said, “Don’t judge just the skin,  
Some hearts shine bright though the outsides seem thin.”  
Those “dirty old men” with laughter and song,  
Were heroes who swept all the winter winds strong.  

So, Mama, repeat it, just once more tonight—  
How kindness can hide under soot and delight.  
I’ll lie in your lap, till the story’s all told,  
Of the hard-working men with spirits of gold.

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