Hans Christian Andersen

Ever since I remember, I have loved fairy-tales by H.C.Andersen. They were dark, melancholic, and always finished with a sad happy ending.
This is my tribute to one of them.

A little girl with matches

Eve before Christmas
On the church stairs
A little girl crouching
For whom no one cares

Her clothes are torn
Hands and feet bare
If anyone does notice
It's with a disapproving stare

A marble-like skin
From cold her lips blue
Listen to her pleading
To her little soft coo:
'Matches, please buy matches,
One box, or two..'

On a little orphan
No one takes pity
Christmas are more fun
In a big city

Everyone's busy
With lives of their own
Rushing from cold inside
To a warm fire in their home

When the night covers streets
With her cape of dark
First match comes alive
With a little spark

Matches alight one by one
Brief moments of warmth don't last
The little girl sees her dad and mum
So fondly images of past

A tiny flame dances on the final one
Little girl embraced by her old nan
To a big warm house she is led
Own room, the softest bed

When on Christmas morning
People came to church to pray
A little heap on the stairs
Stopped them on their way

Some men would gasp
Some women would weep
A little frozen girl forever asleep..