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
Copyright © Denis Briggs | Year Posted 2018
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