The Little Match Girl

The Little Match Girl She sits all alone On the pavement so cold Selling her matches At just eight years old The snowflakes fall And cover her head She's so hungry its days Since she was properly fed She holds out her wares To each passer by “Sir please by my matches” Is her small plaintive cry But many ignore her This poor urchin there They'll go home to their fires They don't really care But she can't go home Till she's sold them all Or her Cruel father Will beat her and bawl As she sits and shivers A match she does light For a small piece of warmth On this cold new years night With each match she strikes She sees wondrous things Like clowns and a circus Princesses and Kings But alas these are just pictures Made up in her mind As the light and warmth fades No joy she can find She is lost and alone She starts to weep As on the cold pavement She lies down to sleep On New Years morning She's still lying there Still stiff and cold No more she'll know care She died all alone Frozen and cold Her young life cut short At just eight years old Though her story is sad It still happens today Children still starving And wasting away Sleeping on pavements Lost and alone Crying and dying As cold as stone So just think of them As you watch your TV And maybe The Little match girl you will see Denis Briggs 2016