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There is a little place in a little room |
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Where a little chap hides away amidst the gloom. |
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Tucks his little legs undermeath a well-worn chair |
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Plucks a piece of paper and attacks at his despair. |
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A stubby lead pencil scratches through the fears |
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Of every little cruelness that reduces us to tears. |
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Sharp is the lead but wellis penetrate |
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All the nooks and crannies that this world creates. |
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There is so little time for us to stop and look |
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As he places the cover upon his little book. |
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There will come a day when this little man will die |
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And they'll put him in a tiny hole undermeath the sky |
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His little lead pencel book and chair |
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Will be placed inside a plastic bag and taken who knows where ... |
