A little matchgirl stood and shivered, waiting for a sign,
despairing that her candle might burn out for one last time.
Inside its flames were shadows of an answer to her pain.
A single step had won her hope; the next one lost the game.
Another candle flickered; in its flame she saw a room.
A knight emblazoned stood before her, bright against the gloom.
His body leant, enveloping her, promising her sun;
A single draught
A flame snuffed out
His burning shape had gone.
He'd given her a silver rose . . . it withered in the dawn.
She held it 'til her finger bled, impaled upon a thorn.
Its petals, dried and shrivelled, fell. She scooped them off her bed
then reached out for a match but found and empty box instead.
She wandered down the High Street where she tried on many clothes.
She needed to replace the one she'd torn upon a rose.
But all she bought were candles and a matchbox. Then alone
she walked the streets, a little matchgirl, always on her own.
All wintertime, she hid from fates she could not understand
and lived her life through stories told by candles in her hand.
Until a flaming finger beckoned: "I have come for you."
The little matchgirl disappeared.
Where?
No one ever knew.
despairing that her candle might burn out for one last time.
Inside its flames were shadows of an answer to her pain.
A single step had won her hope; the next one lost the game.
Another candle flickered; in its flame she saw a room.
A knight emblazoned stood before her, bright against the gloom.
His body leant, enveloping her, promising her sun;
A single draught
A flame snuffed out
His burning shape had gone.
He'd given her a silver rose . . . it withered in the dawn.
She held it 'til her finger bled, impaled upon a thorn.
Its petals, dried and shrivelled, fell. She scooped them off her bed
then reached out for a match but found and empty box instead.
She wandered down the High Street where she tried on many clothes.
She needed to replace the one she'd torn upon a rose.
But all she bought were candles and a matchbox. Then alone
she walked the streets, a little matchgirl, always on her own.
All wintertime, she hid from fates she could not understand
and lived her life through stories told by candles in her hand.
Until a flaming finger beckoned: "I have come for you."
The little matchgirl disappeared.
Where?
No one ever knew.
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