There lived a little match girl away in a village
A motherless child with least privilege
She lived with an unkind father who drunk quite a lot
She never complained though when beatings from him she got
She sold for him match sticks whenever she was told
Away from home she had to go even in the biting cold
It was snowing quite heavily that Christmas Eve
Nothing at home to eat, heavily a sigh she did heave
As usual she was sent out to sell some match sticks
So that for both of them a meal he could fix
She set out that evening for that task to complete
Covering with flimsy slippers her tiny little feet
She peered through windows straining as much as she could
The hungry child looked at tables laid out with food
She saw in the shops gifts bought for each other
Innocent and wide eyed she terribly missed her grandmother
Her matches, though, from her no one bought
It continued to snow, with the cold she bravely fought
The streets emptied slowly later in the evening
But she could never return home without her matches selling
Her father would beat her if she returned bare handed
Instead, she thought, she’d rather be stranded
She sat in a corner of two buildings outside
Hoping she could, from the bitter cold hide
If only she could strike a match to feel warm
Simple a wish, but for her a question of qualm
The snow stopped falling and the wind turned chill
Hungry and cold, thinking of nice things she sat still
The harshness of life the little one could no longer bear
If only a warm coat now she could wear
She struck a match and felt the warm glow
In its light she saw a welcoming stove
Delighted she held out her tiny hands and feet
Grateful to the embers she basked in the heat
It seemed so real she never did doubt
It was only a dream, the match had burned out
Another match she struck and there she saw a table
Laid out with food fit for a king in a fable
Roast goose, chicken, pudding, ice-cream and pies
It seemed so real, it could never be otherwise
But again for the hungry child the dream never lasted
Another match had been sorrowfully wasted
To make the dream last forever and ever
She lit all the match sticks she had together
And in the light which shone bigger and brighter
She saw to her amazement her loving grandmother
She hugged her so tightly enough to almost smother
Together they vanished into thin ether
The town awakened the next morn to celebrate
But for the match girl it certainly was too late
They saw her still form in the corner huddled
Beside her lay burnt match sticks, an empty basket she cuddled
Her face radiant with a smile as never seen before
The little match girl had left forever, she would suffer no more.
Bindu Vidyadhar
