Denis Briggs Poet Lyric

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

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