Stave 1
Bareheaded and barefoot,
Frozen to the bone,
A little match girl walked
In the wintry night alone;
She had lost her slippers
In the deepening snow.
The pocket of her apron,
Ragged, thin and wet,
Held a bundle of matches
Waiting to be lit.
She feared a painful beating –
She hadn’t sold a match all day
And knew her hungry father
Would make her pay.
Snowflakes settled on her hair
As she gazed in windows bright,
Drawn by the scent of roast goose;
Enchanted by the light.
In a niche between two houses
The match girl made her bed.
She struck a match: a tiny candle
In the cup of her numb hands
Became a fire in a shiny stove,
So blissfully warm
That she stretched out her toes
To nothing – the match was dead.
Image found on en.wikisource.org
Stave 2
The match girl struck
Another stick of light;
It glowed so bright
It melted the wall of a house.
Through its transparency
She could clearly see
A table with a dazzling white cloth
Fine porcelain gleaming
A roast goose steaming,
Stuffed with apples and prunes.
The little match girl reached out
An ice cold hand –
And the match was spent.
Image found on americanliterature.com
Stave 3
She struck match number three
And the match girl found herself
Under a Christmas tree,
With a thousand candles
Burning on its green boughs.
As she reached out
To the exquisite light,
The Christmas candles
Rose and became bright
Stars – one
Fell
And burnt a long fiery path
In the sky.
She thought,
Someone is dying now,
Remembering how
Her grandmother
Used to say:
When a star falls,
A soul rises up to God.
Image found on Pinterest
Stave 4
The little match girl struck another
Match against the wall;
From its flame her grandmother
Shone bright, glittering and mild.
‘Take me with you!’ cried the child.
‘When the match is spent,
You’ll be gone.’
Her numb fingers fumbled
As she struck the matches
Remaining in the bundle,
One by one.
In the arms of her grandmother
They ascended together
Before the sun
Rose over the frozen figure,
Spent matches clutched closely
To her heart.
Image found on pdsh.wikia.com
© Kim M. Russell, 2015
writing in north norfolk 