The Little Match Girl or A Tale for Our Times

A poor little match girl cast out on the street

has little to hope for and nothing to eat

so she shivers and lights up the sky,

burning matches the rich man won't buy;

and with every quick breath she expends,

this match girl draws closer her end.

She knows it is useless to fight

to stave off the cold of the night.

Then this child, who can bear it no more,

lays down in her rags on the floor

where she sees, as her heavy eyes close,

an image she fancies she knows:

all aglow in the heavens above

is the face of the grandma she loved;

and her gloom is dispelled by this star

that will lead her from all her dull care;

thus happy, she drifts off to sleep 

but what of the lesson her tale bids us keep?

All that's gained by the ills the poor bear

may be sought on a wing and a prayer.*

*This piece was the result of a writing exercise undertaken at The Lost and Found Cafe with the members of Penzance Writers' Cafe.