My Little Man

A little man he was, he was,
A battered little man he was.
He didn’t really stand tall, oh no
He barely really stood at all.
In a little hole he lived all alone
And though the floorboards did moan
He always felt that he was the little man
The one that lived alone.

One day he felt the floorboards rip
And the spiders behind the woodwork nipped
But our hero lay where he’d always been
Almost out of sight and unseen
Under all that dust in which he lay
In his hollow head he started to pray
He wanted nothing more than to be found
To be among his friends, safe and sound.

The floorboards continued to rise
And with them so did the lies
The smell too you couldn’t bare
Was clinging to the dirt and stale air
But it was going to be his day today
Going to be found and taken away.
“I got it, it’s here,” he heard a voice say,
and another “He was murdered at the end of May”
“Don’t unwrap him,” the first man said
“It’s been a good while he’s been dead
“Leave it for the lads in the lab to do
“We’ve done our job now, me and you”
He lay there as they raised the body,
They looked for clues, he was left with nobody.

But the next day was the day he was found
The funny thing was he didn’t here a sound.
He was scooped out of the blue and all of a sudden
His unmoved head dizzied and the motion maddened
His arms felt the air brush their cloth
And from them they shed their dust,
His colour came through once again
And all his stiffened joints moved with pain.

I flew past my old neighborhood town
In the palm of this woman or man
But it all looked different, empty, gray
It didn’t look like the place you’d want to stay.

I started to stare
But I was sure,
There was no one there.

How I longed to be cleaned,
My wood buffed, my boots gleamed.
How I hope that my suit is washed
And my face, with a little paint washed.
And back to the toy box I will go
With a fresh smile and a mighty glow
And tell the tales of time gone by
How I, as a soldier, would have to make time fly.
Alone it was lonely, quiet and dull
Over time you would find that you’d mull
Of how when the day came to be free
All the faces you would be looking forward to see.
And I would be the talk of the town,
The soldier with that special red gown.

“This must have been his favourite toy,”
“What? This wooden soldier for that boy?
“I thought it might’ve been a car,
but my imagination doesn’t stretch far.”
“What shall we do with him?” The other voice said.
“Put him with the boy, without him he’d be dead.”

My Little Man


Braintree, United Kingdom

  • Artist

Artist's Description

I came up with this about two years ago. I don’t know why it came to my head, but it did and I just wrote it.

I hope you like it, I know it’s a little dark but I think it needs to be.

All comments welcome.

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