Matchstick Girl
Matchstick Girl.
Matchstick Girl in ragged clothes,
lace up shoes and purple toes.
'Come buy your matchsticks from me sir,
your wife all fancy in her fur'.
Every night on London's streets
there were matchstick girls
with clip clop feet.
Men with sticks and big top hats,
cobbled streets with hungry cats.
Gaslights dimming out the night,
pavement shadows causing fright.
The matchstick girl to a window ledge,
strikes a match from behind a hedge.
Yuletide greetings she does see,
candles lit on a Christmas tree.
Girls with velvet ribbons and bows,
fancy frocks and socks on toes.
A mantlepiece with stockings hung,
gathered folk and a carol sung.
Satsumas, figs and dry cured ham,
chestnuts roast in a metal pan.
Then the matchstick girl with her stick of light
returns again to the dark cold night.
'Come buy your matchsticks from me please'
as she starts to shake and she starts to freeze.
That night her matchsticks all ran out,
she could not light a match to shout.
Snow had poured down snow on snow,
little matchstick girl nowhere to go,
she lay down on the snow instead,
with angel wings to rest her head.
The snowflakes carried her soul away
to a place called Heaven far away..
Copyright © Brigid Foley | Year Posted 2018
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