A tiny girl with long, fair hair
is clothed in all she has to wear,
a tattered dress and slippers far too large.
She looks too frail to climb a stair.
Her father who has lost his sight,
without fail,sends her out each night
to sell a bundle of matches. His wife
cares more for liquor than her child's plight.
Her stomach sounds for lack of food.
Her body trembling with cold is viewed
by a passer-by, who asks her nothing
on the pretence it would be rude.
A thousand curses on your head,
uncaring soul.You know she might be dead
before the morning comes, but you
would rather hurry home to bed
and dream most pleasurable dreams
than help a little girl with streams
of tears on her quite frozen cheeks.
Each day you see the sun's bright beams,
may feelings of guilt haunt and hound
you and your memory astound you
with a vivid vision
of that girl sobbing on the ground.
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