THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL

ADAPTED FROM THE STORY BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSON

On a New Year's Eve, long years ago
A match girl toiled through ice and snow,
To ply her wares she walked the street
Her head was bare, so too her feet.
All day she'd spent in biting cold
Alas her matches all unsold,
In search of a sale she continued to roam
A beating awaited should she return home.

As snow flakes cloaked her long fair hair
A roast goose smell was on the air,
Candle-lit windows shone out in the gloom
A whole world away from her chill attic room.
Colder yet colder she'd slowly become
Her feet turning blue, her hands growing numb,
Where two houses met she spied a small nook
A picture of sorrow, scant shelter she took.

A hope of comfort came to mind
In a match some warmth she'd find,
But once that lighted match she held
A glowing stove her eyes beheld.
So real did this vision seem
She felt the warmth of its fiery gleam,
Yet even as she hunkered near
The blessed scene did disappear.

Another match flared in the gloom
She saw through the wall into a room,
Where stood a table wondrous set
A wonder that grew greater yet,
For the steaming goose the child saw
Jumped from the dish and to the floor;
But once the match no longer burned
The thick, damp wall again returned.

One more she struck, she now did see
A most magnificent Christmas tree,
A thousand lights wrapped it around
The dead match dropped upon the ground.
The Christmas lights rose high and high
And turned to stars that pierced the sky,
One star fell, it downward sped
"Someone has died" the match girl said.

‘Twas her dead gran had told her so
And in a fresh flame's fluttering glow
Her grandmother herself was standing there
The only one who'd shown her care.
"Oh grandmother" the girl did shout
"You'll disappear when the match burns out;
Like stove and goose and great tree too
Please, I beg, take me with you!"

A bundle of matches she lit as one
Their light as bright as noon-day sun,
The woman took her on her arm
They upward flew from strife and harm.
In joy and brightness they soared high
To cold and hunger they bade goodbye;
Her mortal self the match girl shod
For both of them were now with God.

On New Year's Day folk found her there
With gentle face and frozen stare,
A pile of matches lay burnt on the floor
"She'd tried to warm herself for sure".
No one could know what she had seen
The sights that made her death serene,
The splendour she at last had found
Leaving her body curled up on the ground.

So my friends this tale is done
But in amongst your festive fun
I beg you spare a quiet thought
For other folk who too have nought.
And as you revel on New Year's night
See in them the match girl's plight,
Ward them from her sad release
Give to them some small surcease.
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On a New Year's Eve, long years ago
A match girl toiled through ice and snow,
To ply her wares she walked the street
Her head was bare, so too her feet.