Poetry on steroids

A Little Match Girl

The little girl walked barefooted
without slippers and bare headed
with her feet
red and blue
she huddled around
over the night
black and white
All she could smell was
the roasted goose
and all they could hear
was the bell

Not a penny in hand
and not a kinder man around
she huddled into a corner
O so cold
But it seemed as though
her heart was still on fire
struggling hard
but not getting tired

Her father would beat her
that she knew
But she couldn't decide
which was colder
the man or the snow
But yet she carried on
with matches in her hands
and fire in her heart
she carried on

So she sat there
and thought of
a great iron stove
with its brightness and its glory
with its love and its warmth

then there came a roasted goose
big enough for all her wants
then there was this Christmas tree
with lights aglow
as bright as they could be

then there came her Grandma
the one she loved
the one she cared about
She took her hand
and that night they left
for the heaven
for the betest

It was not the fire they say
it was the smoke that left that day
with rosy cheek
and smiling eyes
there she laid motionless

It was new year's eve they say
it was the previous year's last day
and so the winter went
and the spring came by
but the coldness never passed
it was not the cold night
but the cold heart
due to which she died that day
that night