little sun little moon little dogand a little to eat and a little to loveand a little to live forin a little roomfilled with littlemicewho gnaw and dance and run while I sleepwaiting for a little deathin the middle of a little morningin a little cityin a little statemy little mother deadmy little father deadin a little cemetery somewhere. I have onlya little timeto tell you this: watch out forlittle death when he comes runningbut like all the billions of little deathsit will finally mean nothing and everything: all your little tears burning like the dove, wasted.
Charles BukowskiAbout author
- Author's profession: Author, Writer, Poet
- Nationality: american
- Born: August 16, 1920
- Died: March 9, 1994
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