The Little Match-Seller by Radhika
Posted by MsMichetti on 21 May 2009
The Little Match-Seller
A thick, white, fur coat
for a lady walking on
a thick, white, snowy coat
belonging to the street walked upon.
That lady walking by-
in the coat so thick and white-
pretended to be oblivious
to the poor girl in her sight.
Isn’t Christmas the time for joy?
Because at this sight, I shed a tear.
Isn’t it time for miracles?
At least not for this poor girl here.
I cry for this poor, innocent creature.
I weep for this precious soul,
who’s begging these disgusted people
to buy a single match, or a bundle whole.
Matches scatter the snow,
falling from her apron white
as both her hands shiver from
the heartless, cruel night.
Back against a wall
she sits, gazing through windows.
Seeing a blazing fire
while her tiny fingers froze.
Seeing children of her own age
tearing presents that reveal toys.
Seeing mums and dads, and in their arms
little girls and little boys.
Oh! How she wished to go home,
her home twelve miles away.
But forbidden she was, by her parents,
until she earned twopence today.
If she came home with the same matches
she left with in the morn,
she’d be beaten, scolded at, hated.
Just as was the day she was born.
Lay the apron down she did,
and rubbed her hands together.
Despite her hard efforts, she
cannot fade the raw weather.
She looked longingly at the matches,
longingly at her only possession.
But all they’d do is stare back dully,
every one with dull expression.
“One match shan’t do any harm”, said she,
the girl who trembled on the street.
With that remark, the match was struck!
And soon she felt the heat.
But no ordinary heat this was.
‘twas not coming from a single flame
before her stood a living stove
and from there the warmth came.
But before she could fully appreciate
the warmth of the dancing fire,
the stove disappeared along with the match
that came to its expire.
She hastily grabbed another match
and brushed it on the wall.
What she saw wasn’t a stove, but
it made her gasp in awe.
A dinner table (with roast chicken,
and candles which were lit)!
But the table faded away with the dying match
as she raised her hand to touch it.
Once more she lit another match
and standing before her
stood a proud Christmas tree, and
streamers-beautiful they were
But-by now you would’ve figured-
the tree did not last long.
Poor thing, she hoped it would’ve stayed
but we all know she was wrong.
The girl, she lighted another match,
to you it may seem déjà vu.
To her, each match held surprise, so
stop she wouldn’t until every match was through.
But, this time, no flame appeared.
Not a stove, not some food, nor a Christmas tree.
All was same, except for a
transparent angel that she could see.
This angel- Oh! So beautiful!
White strands of hair billow behind her white dress.
The little match seller looked down at her hands.
Standing before the angel, she looked such a mess!
The angel floating in the air-
her skin was pale and wrinkled,
her peaceful whiteness shame the falling snow
as her creamy eyes twinkled.
And as the little girl admired the angel,
a deadly wind flew by,
and the flame flickered threateningly,
“I’m going to die,” it seemed to cry.
The little girl gathered all her matches,
and fed them to the dying fire.
And though the wind was merciless,
the growing fire did the opposite to tire.
“Oh Gwand-mamma! How have you been?”
the little girl had to ask.
“I’m very well, love,” she replied
in a voice of melted syrup in a flask.
I’m very well, love… love…
The girl’s grandmamma was the only one
who called the girl “love”, and only
into Grandmamma’s arms she would run
She talked with her Grandmamma-
too occupied to notice
the angel’s colour die, like
a perishing white sacred lotus.
When she noticed, she clung onto
the angel’s outline of an arm.
“NO! Gwand-mamma! Have mercy on my heart!
Don’t go and take with you your charm!”
The angel caressed her face and said,
“Go home, dearest, go home, my child.
I’ll be in your hear, as I always have,”
and she gravely smiled.
“Oh! Gwand-mamma!
How I wish I could!
But faw-bidden I am, by mama and papa
until I sell these goods.”
She pointed towards the burning match
and shed a dreaded tear.
“Dada hits me; Mama slaps me.”
The girl shivered at the thought. In fear.
You don’t find angels crying;
not an angel, let alone.
But it cried and scooped up the girl
and away they’d flown…
…just as the last match vanished…
A thick, white, fur coat
for a lady walking on
a thick, white, snowy coat
belonging to the street walked upon.
Matches scatter the snow,
matches from the girl’s apron white
as her corpse lay there, still,
from the heartless, cruel night.
Somewhere no pain exists-
her soul was at that place.
Safe in Grand mamma’s arms, she was happy-
I could tell from her smiling face.
Is Christmas the time for joy?
Because at this sight, I shed a tear.
Is it time for miracles?
A tear of joy, for this little one here.
By Radhika
June 16th, 2009 at 4:41 pm
Heyy!! You told me to read this and it was SO good!
Remember to capitalize each beginning letter of the line!
But that was GREAT!! =]
-Aya
June 19th, 2009 at 12:00 am
OMG!!!!!!! i cant believe u wrote that!!!! it was amazing no kidding! in the begining i got a little confused but then i got it! all i can say is W-O-W!!!!!!!! can’t tell u how good it was!lol
CONGRATS on the success
luv
sabine;)
June 19th, 2009 at 11:37 am
RADHIKA!!!
this poem is amazing. i’m practically speechless!
seriously, it’s such a good poem.
keep up the good work! =D you’re really good!!
=ES=
June 20th, 2009 at 3:09 pm
Maybe if it wasn’t first a story made by another person, then it would have been good. It’s wayyy too long for my likings.
June 20th, 2009 at 3:24 pm
dunno what to comment, but one word. Excellent.
Keep it up!
June 20th, 2009 at 5:34 pm
RADHIKA!
ur poem is so GOOD!
after i read it i was like WOW.
gosh rad, ur rly good at writing poems!!
although u’ve skipped from past tense to present tense
a few times and u need to unite them in one tense,
it’s PERFECTNESS . *w*
-ji the shrimpo-
June 20th, 2009 at 10:25 pm
Wow Radhika!
This is really good!!
How long did it take?
Your english poem writing skill is very… uh skilful!!
rebecca x
June 20th, 2009 at 10:54 pm
To Aya: Yeah, I asked Dhn & Steph for advice on this one, and Dhn told me that I either capitalize the beginning of every line (as you suggested). Steph told me I could also capitalize after every major punctuation mark (except for semi-colons), which was what I chose to stick to. But thanks anyway for the wonderful comment! Luv ya <3
To Sabine: Thanks so much Sabine! Yeah, I guess it was kinda confusing—but I’m glad you understood it after all. I’m glad you liked it. Luv&Miss ya loads <3
To E: Thanks
I’m glad you liked it, although I’m willing to bet that you didn’t enjoy reading it was much as I enjoyed writing it. But thanks so much for taking the time to read and comment on it. Thanks again!!
To Unknown: Yeah, you’re not the only person who thought it was too long – I’m sure out of every 5 people, 1 to 2 couldn’t be bothered to finish reading the poem because it was too long. I must improve on shortening my poems, and try to work more on the quality than the quantity. Thanks so much for telling me~ I’ll work on it
To Cararadurz: I don’t know what to say in reply to that, but one word: Thanks.
You rock, Cara! Luv ya <3 ~Radurz.
To Ji: Thanks so much. I’m not sure, though, where I skipped from past to present tense. Will you show me? Thanks anyway for noticing and telling me. I really appreciate your “critical analyzing”.
To Rebecca: It took me…uh… what seemed like a very long time. I guess it was less than 2 weeks (because I remember writing it during some break…), but I didn’t spend every hour of the day writing it during those 2 weeks, so don’t think I spend 14 full days writing that. I had to rush some parts, because there was a deadline, of course, but I finished it a few days before. Thanks so much! Luv&Miss ya <3
Oh, and Unknown was the first to mention out of all the people who read this that this poem was based on another story. “The Little Match Seller” was originally a story by Hans Christian Anderson. You can find the story here:
http://hca.gilead.org.il/li_match.html
Thanks so much to everyone for taking the time to read it and comment. All your comments are greatly valued, and will all be taken into account. Thanks again.
~Radhika
June 21st, 2009 at 11:00 pm
Hi Radhika — you did a very good job with this and the imagery is striking. I think it would be wise to reference the Hans Christian Anderson story to readers of the poem so that they know where your inspiration came from. Have a great summer!
June 26th, 2009 at 12:19 pm
great outstanding work, radhika! keep it up!
June 26th, 2009 at 12:20 pm
great work radhika!keep it up !
August 12th, 2009 at 5:31 pm
You write awesome poems.
I can’t- it is so touching!
GOOD JOB
Hope you write wonderful poems like this!
~Anushki <3
August 25th, 2009 at 7:03 pm
I love the poem. It is so touching.
Dude, you are so good at writing stuff.
I suck at it, seriously!